


encore.

by tarantism



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Depression, Drug Use, Heavy Angst, M/M, Pining, Smut, both legal and illegal, ready for hardcore tagging, soonyoung has it bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarantism/pseuds/tarantism
Summary: just like an encore, he keeps wanting moreorin which soonyoung decides love is never an option, but drowning his feelings is never enough.





	encore.

**Author's Note:**

> first up i want to add another pre-fic warning here of all the topics that will pop up in this fic - they're all strong and recurring, so if you think you may have an issue with any of these tags please put your safety first and click away!!
> 
>  
> 
> **(WARNING INCLUDES: alcoholism, drug use < both legal and illegal >, sex, vomit, mentions of depression and thoughts of suicide - though there is no actual attempt)**
> 
>  
> 
> second of all i want to say this fic is something i've been working on and tackling for close to a year now, and it's been a constant battle trying to finish it as well as trying to convey what i feel is the realism of what soonyoung is going through. i originally started this as a request from my friend who basically told me what she wanted plot point by plot point. there were so many times i wanted to give up and just leave it be but i have had so much support.
> 
> thank you so much to ray, laina, chloe, karenmay, janie + rhhb. from the bottom of my heart i would never have been satisfied with this if it weren't for you. and to meg, happy belated birthday - a whole year late!
> 
>  
> 
> [ _encore. playlist_ ](https://open.spotify.com/user/aeymbooycz2ob7ky7sdqda4h3/playlist/4Jt2xqVZDDZMXnUkY7tB83?si=Zd43xD0ITw2G2hZeydCE8w)

Soonyoung was seventeen when he decided he never wanted to fall in love, that it was too much of a hassle, and that it got in the way of his music. He was also seventeen when he decided music was the thing he wanted to pursue full-time, that he wanted to be a star and nothing in the world would make him happier than playing in front of large crowds with his friends by his side. Seventeen was the age when he thought he had it all figured out and that nothing would cause him to fall.

 

/

 

Soonyoung is twenty-five when he decides that there’s no feeling more electrifying, more intense than the one that courses through his veins like electricity when he’s strumming his guitar on stage. Nothing in the world can beat the feeling of how the crowd deafens him with their screams against his in-ear monitor, how his his sweat plasters his clothes to his glistening, tan skin under the blinding stage lights. His instrument in his vice-like grasp weighs more with every note, every song, and he is certain the whole world revolves around that one singular moment in time. 

However, in his current predicament, he realises that wet lips breathing intermittently against his neck and short-trimmed nails sinking into the skin at his waist, sending shivers up his spine, consume him so much more than the feeling he gets when playing with his band at sold-out arenas. It’s all-encompassing, too much to the point where he forgets everything other than the sounds escaping the keyboardist’s mouth below him.

It’s not ideal, being crushed together on the sticky leather couch of their shared dressing room – sticky with what, Soonyoung doesn’t know, he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t _care_ ; not in that moment. The locks on the door are broken, and the sound of the crew working so closely outside is both a risk and a thrill; it’s something. It’s _enough_.

He’s panting hard and he doesn’t know if it’s due to the adrenaline still in his veins from the concert, the excitement pounding in his heart, the alcohol and other substances clouding his already hazy mind, or if it’s due to the sweltering heat inside the small space they occupy. As Soonyoung attempts to flick his sweat-coated black hair out of his eyes, trying to fill his lungs with cold, crisp air, he thinks, maybe, that it’s a mix of it all. It’s all overwhelming, uncomfortable, but the burning he feels in his chest turns from sour and confusing to almost sweet when he begins to breathe in the same air as Wonwoo.

Noses brush every so often, their faces so very close; Soonyoung’s mouth hovering over Wonwoo’s but never actually touching, never kissing, only breathing in every splendid whimper or sigh that leaves the boy’s shiny, wet, red lips. Soonyoung sometimes thinks that he’d love to know what they taste like (probably beer or pizza, maybe the last joint he’d smoked before they found themselves here) but he shakes that thought from his head. He doesn’t dare lean in those last few centimetres more. Though he wouldn’t ever admit it, Soonyoung knows he’s too much of a coward to erase what little space they have left between them on the dressing room couch.

Soonyoung frowns slightly, brow creasing when he realises his hands have started shaking. It’s something that never happens to him when performing. On stage he’s sure and poised, hand curled around the neck of the guitar while the other plucks at the tough nylon strings, knowing that everyone there has paid to see them and won’t stop screaming his name… but right now, with Wonwoo shifting — almost _squirming_ — underneath him, he feels nervous and he’s not sure why. He’s not sure he likes the feeling. 

Licking his drying lips, Soonyoung catches a droplet of sweat that had beaded on his nose and dripped down his philtrum, onto his cupid’s bow. It tastes different from when he’s sweating on stage, though the same saltiness is biting at his tongue. He doesn’t know why, but the excitement and heat of performing tastes like honey compared to the anxiety and lust contained in that single droplet on his tongue at that moment. With this thought, he makes Wonwoo slide out from under him and turn around, pressing his bare chest flush against the taller boy’s back before his mind can form thoughts too complicated for what they have going, before they can turn into even more complicated feelings he simply won’t allow himself to feel. 

There on that sticky leather couch (he remembers now, he spilt his beer on it an hour before the show, laughing at something someone had said), in the dressing room after their sold out concert, Soonyoung admires the way Wonwoo’s tan skin glows under the dingy, slightly too-yellow lighting. He’s on his hands and knees before him, fingers curling around the tattered armrest to support his larger weight, anxious to begin. Soonyoung looks at Wonwoo’s fingers through his clumped, dark hair that’s falling into his eyes from where it had previously been styled, despite his attempts to shift it. He looks at Wonwoo’s hands, the veins and fingers and the nails he keeps trimmed for playing the keyboard. They uncurl and re-grasp at the couch every time Soonyoung moves, unable to firmly hold the leather. He thinks they’re beautiful hands—not long and bony like his best friend Seokmin’s; not small and delicately dainty like their drummer Jihoon’s, not short nor round like his own—they’re strong and they always know exactly where to touch to make Soonyoung lose himself completely.

It only takes a single sound to wake him from his trance.

“Come on, Soon.” Wonwoo breathes, looking over his shoulder with his brows painted into a frown and sweat dripping into his eyes. “Are we going to do this or not?”

Screwing his eyes shut, Soonyoung presses the pads of his thumbs deeper into the man’s sides. He knows there will be bruises there tomorrow, same as always; he leans forward, shifts and bites down into Wonwoo’s shoulder when the idea of kissing his frown away flashes in his mind and blurs his thoughts more than the alcohol and drugs do. He blames it on exactly that: intoxication, and ignores the ever-growing feeling in his stomach that comes with every groan that leaves Wonwoo’s lips.

Soonyoung runs his hands up Wonwoo’s bare chest, over the soft skin of the man’s arms until they reach those beautiful hands. He’s glad they had gotten rid of their clothes ages ago, the thought of painstakingly peeling back every article of Wonwoo’s stage apparel at this level of desire now torturous in his mind. He moves his hips until he’s finally inside Wonwoo, pleasure hitting his body hard as the feeling surges through his veins and mixes with all the shit he’s taken, helping him forget the fact that his fingers are now securely entwined with Wonwoo’s. 

Soonyoung is twenty-five when he doesn’t think it is possible to hear something as magical and breathtaking as a crowd going crazy whilst they scream the band’s name, a sound that buzzed in his mind and set his soul on fire. But then Wonwoo is moaning his name with his deep, raspy voice, and Soonyoung finds out he was definitely, most certainly wrong.

 

/

 

It’s a long flight after they finish up the tour in that city, and move onto the next as October draws to a close. And if it’s not a flight, it’s a trip in their tour bus. He just hopes the journey isn’t so long that they have to sleep on the way. He prefers hotels.

Actually, Soonyoung doesn’t just prefer them; he loves hotels, and wishes they stayed at them longer. He hates being cooped up in a small bunk on the tour bus. Their driver isn’t a particularly soothing one, and whenever he feels himself finally lulling off to sleep, he’s jolted awake by the sudden feeling of the coach driving over an uneven patch of road. He tells himself that’s the main reason, pushing away the thought that in a hotel he has a full double bedspread to himself, whereas on the coach he always somehow manages to find himself wrapped around Wonwoo.

He also loves hotels because whenever they arrive there are always clean silk sheets waiting for him and a mini bar begging to be raided. And he does, he drinks the day away through the mini bar (complimentary, of course) and loses his mind to the night. He rolls a joint or two and smokes (sometimes naked if he’s sated and his clothes are jumbled amongst Wonwoo’s on the bedroom floor), opening the balcony door enough to not set off the smoke detectors, and when he’s too shit-faced to stand upright he falls onto the bed—not his own, but Wonwoo’s—and crawls over his warm body.

Wonwoo’s hardly sober when this happens, but compared to Soonyoung, he’s the poster child for prohibition. He whines a little that his hands are too cold as Soonyoung runs them up his skin, under the hem of his shirt, but the way his pupils are dilated and his breath uneven leads Soonyoung to pull the fabric over his head and place sluggish, wet kisses and bites all over the expanse of the boy’s chest. When he pins the taller boy down, straddling his thighs, he knows Wonwoo’s not going anywhere for the night. It only takes a few minutes before the boy is begging for more, clawing at the expanse of Soonyoung’s back. 

He’s never felt at home anywhere, so a hotel is as good as it gets. He can make as much mess as he likes, knowing he can afford to pay the damage by the end of their stay and have no one telling him what to do. Their manager, Seungcheol, worries of course, tries to keep him on the right track, but there in that shared hotel room he can make Wonwoo scream as loud as he likes and not have to worry about a thing. It’s so much better than whispering their whines in the confined area of their dressing room.

It usually starts out the same, with Wonwoo underneath him, arching his back when Soonyoung starts grinding against him, too drunk and horny to remember who he is or what he’s feeling. He always gets him on his hands and knees; chest pressing against his back, pushing into him fast and hard just like he knows Wonwoo likes it, begging, screaming for more. What’s different now is that Soonyoung can’t seem to stop himself interlinking their fingers; something he had never done before the other night, something he’d never even considered doing again. But he’s too high, too gone to care if it’s too intimate, especially with the way Wonwoo holds him tight just as he’s about to come.

He bites down into his shoulder, as he always does, like routine, feeling Wonwoo shake and scream and it sends that final jolt through Soonyoung’s sweaty body that takes him over the edge. All he can feel in that single moment is not the substances in his veins, the sweat on his brow, the lightness in his head; all he can feel is Wonwoo, and it seems like in that split second, that’s all he needs.

Soonyoung loves hotel nights because he can collapse onto a king sized bed completely spent and not have to worry about cleaning the sheets in the morning—that’s not his job. His job is to play sold out arenas and get so blackout drunk after that he can’t remember the rush of the night before. The smell of sex is heavy in the air, almost suffocating, and he moves to roll another joint as his high starts to fade. He doesn’t want to feel, and he’s worried he will if he doesn’t light up soon.

Sometimes, only sometimes, Wonwoo joins him for a smoke. Tonight he lets out a groan and picks up his jeans from the hotel room floor. Soonyoung watches how lax his movements are as he pulls out his crumpled packet of _Malboros_ and places the long white and tan stick between his teeth; Soonyoung can almost taste the tobacco on his tongue until he cleanses his mind with the first inhale of his joint. 

He always loses his lighters, so he tells himself he only keeps Wonwoo around because he always has a back up. He’s good like that: organised, careful. It’s something Soonyoung likes about him. Not that he’d ever admit it.

They sit by the hotel door (only partly opened for the smoke, it’s far too cold at this late hour in Germany), not talking, only sucking in the warmth of the poison between their lips; and when the joint is burnt out and the cigarette down to the butt, they throw the ends over the balcony without thinking of the consequences, climbing back onto the newly ruffled, stained silk sheets they won’t have to care about in the morning. Soonyoung pulls Wonwoo’s arm around him with a smile on his face, high as the stars in the sky, past the Milky Way, through another dimension until all he knows is he’s falling back to earth. He crash lands from his high an hour later, realising where he is.

Soonyoung loves hotel nights for another reason: when Wonwoo’s arm around his naked waist gets too heavy; when his breath from the lips against the back of his neck gets too hot; when the feet tangled with his own get a little too uncomfortable, and the tingling feeling in his chest starts to rise from the pit of his stomach once more, he is able to crawl away from the larger boy and into his own, well-made bed. There he is away from Wonwoo, and away from any weird thoughts or desires to kiss him on the lips that have been festering at the back of his mind. He can lay there, heavy with intoxication, drink one last beer with his medication and face the wall until he falls asleep.

 

/

 

“Great show, boys!” Seungcheol claps their shoulders as they saunter off stage after their encore, sweat dripping from their foreheads, chests, backs, and thighs. It’s always like a sauna on stage but Soonyoung feels his best when dirty.

“Would’ve been better if Soonyoung hadn’t gone on drunk.” Jihoon snaps, loud enough for Soonyoung to hear and for Seungcheol to wish he hadn’t. He rolls his eyes, he’s not drunk—tipsy _maybe_ , but he’s not drunk. Not yet.

He stretches his body after handing his guitar to the stage manager, smacking his lips that taste of sweat and the lingering sweetness of cider. He ignores Jihoon’s comment and the eyes burning into the back of his skull as they make their way towards their dressing rooms, where Soonyoung knows there’s a cold beer or two waiting for him without judgement or bad-tempered remarks.

The truth is Soonyoung doesn’t even remember how it feels to be sober, and he knows Jihoon knows this too; the past year since their band became popular is just a blur of alcohol and pills and joints and sex. He tells himself this is band culture, the norm, something all the greats have lived through, and he wants to be one of the greats even with the band and their concerns like an itch he can’t quite scratch. He’s had an insatiable thirst for something to make him feel alive for far too long, sinking deeper and deeper into himself when he realises that everything they do—the band, the music, the fame—isn’t enough. He doesn’t know who he is and what his purpose is. And, so what if he drinks a little too much or spends too much money on substances to make him feel something, anything? He drinks a whole can, empties it without stopping to catch a breath, just to remove the sinking feeling starting to build in his stomach. After crushing the metal in his fist, he chucks it across the room, towards the door as he sees it crack open. He expects Jihoon or Seungcheol.

He gets Wonwoo. He smiles and Wonwoo smiles back; granted, weakly. That’s all it takes for Soonyoung to forget about Jihoon and pull the boy towards the threadbare couch in his dressing room, turning his minor complaints about his beer into mutually intoxicated giggles, and his giggles into moans.

It doesn’t stop Seungcheol and Jihoon cornering him later on in the hotel that night, but after his earlier release he’s too far gone to care about anything in the world. Why is it, he wonders, the happiest moments usher in a sudden, intangible fear? He’s just waiting for the sudden fall.

 

/

 

They started out a little differently, but Soonyoung isn’t sure exactly when they moved from messy blowjobs in the empty practice rooms to the way they are now. He wishes it was both himself and their relationship growing older—if that’s what you can call what they have, but he knows it’s not.

Soonyoung remembers the first time he began to see Wonwoo in a different light, as more than just the guy he kind of knew from high school but only really got acquainted with (albeit slowly) once Jihoon threw their band of misfit toys together. He doesn’t think he could ever forget the way Wonwoo looked under the spotlight as he helped set up his keyboard for a show at their first gig since being signed by _Columbia_ under Seungcheol’s management, and the way the band practically glowed with promise and hope for success. What he doesn’t remember is whether the way he intently watched Wonwoo place his fingers gently over the keys of the instrument with an excited smile on his face had anything to do with the buzz of being under new management, a record on the way, a few celebratory drinks waiting for them in the evening, or whether he truly thought Wonwoo was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. No homo, of course.

Before then, he and Wonwoo had never really been close. They were the only two that smoked, surprising them both when Jihoon said he didn’t touch the stuff — out of all of them they had pegged Jihoon as the most likely to have an addiction to nicotine; but upon learning he stuck to booze, it gave them time away together to talk and for Soonyoung to fall deeper into the black of Wonwoo’s eyes.

“Need a light?” Wonwoo’s deep voice rattled through the summer air, and Soonyoung questioned whether he had always had a deep voice or whether it’s from the _Malboros_ he smoked every day. He never spoke to him in high school so he couldn’t make a judgement based on memory, and he cared little for learning more about the boy when he felt an odd tingling in his chest warning him to forget the whole thing. But he nodded and watched the flame lap at the end of his rollie.

He never had a lighter, always lost them, so smoking alone was never an option because the only chance he had to light up was with the taller boy, his sharp features, and his witty anecdotes about life at his side. Soonyoung hated small talk, but he supposed it wasn’t completely unbearable when the pair agreed to grab a drink now and then, and Wonwoo managed to elicit a groan and laugh out of him from a bad pun every so often.

But with every beer they grabbed, it turned into eight or nine, and the self-loathing he felt began to build in his stomach every time he watched the boy’s fist curl around the neck of a bottle. He had told himself not to let his feelings interfere with his thoughts, that love was a sham and his parents had proved that with their messy divorce on his seventeenth birthday. Since then he’d only had flings with girls, sometimes a few guys(he wasn’t picky), but there was never anything remotely similar to feelings involved. He made sure of that. 

He’d started to develop a reliance on alcohol when he realised he couldn’t wash away the pain he saw in his mother’s eyes and the screams playing on loop in his brain with anything other than a drink from his dad’s liquor cabinet; he couldn’t let himself be the same with Wonwoo, but the boy made him laugh when he found it hard to and the alcohol for once made everything so much more intense.

He started to realise that maybe the reason he found the boy so beautiful was because he listened to him, cared about his art, and was happy to sit back, relax with a drink rather than stress about things they couldn’t change. Soonyoung thought Jihoon and Seungcheol could learn a thing or two from him, losing his train of thought as he watched the way Wonwoo brought the bottle to his lips and wished them success and happiness for the foreseeable future.

He reckons that instead it wasn’t enough. The touch he found himself place Wonwoo’s arm and a one-time lust growing in his stomach like a fire impossible to erase with the alcohol alone. Except, it wasn’t one time and eventually, the feeling of his lips around Wonwoo’s length wasn’t a big enough distraction for everything starting to bubble in his brain.

 

/

 

His doctor prescribes him more antidepressants on one of their stops back in the USA after the New Year. Tells him the ones he’s been taking the past few months “don’t seem to be working”. He insists he doesn’t need them, but doesn’t do anything to stop the bag being thrust in his direction at the pharmacy. It’s just another pill to add to the ones clogging his system. Soonyoung doesn’t remember the last time he wasn’t on something—good or bad.

Lips pulled tight, he lets his manager drive him back to their hotel before their show in the evening. Placing the capsules on his tongue, he makes sure Jihoon isn’t looking when he takes a swig of his beer to help them go down; he knows he’d only tell him off and until the drugs kick in he doesn’t think he can deal with it.

Wonwoo worries, but he never pushes him over the edge. Not like Jihoon does, or so he thought. It’s only when they’ve finished up another concert and they’re on the road again to another location (no hotel tonight, much to Soonyoung’s dismay) in their tour bus, that Wonwoo catches him waking up in the middle of the night. He must’ve heard the opening of the fridge and Soonyoung wishes he was quieter, or that Wonwoo was a heavier sleeper. With his hand grasped around the neck of a beer, he hesitates when he hears the taller boy sit up.

“Soonyoung?” 

 _Shit_. This is the last thing he needs right now, he thinks, popping the twist cap off before taking a swig of the substance. It’s foul, but he has no doubt another two will do the job. He’s still a little less than sober from before he slept earlier, holding onto the side of their mini kitchen, trying not to topple over as the coach drives over yet another bump in the road and his head spins lightly.

“What the fuck are you doing? It’s four in the morning.”

Soonyoung has his eyes firmly closed, taking another long sip of his beer before he builds up the strength to look at Wonwoo, now slowly rising from the covers of the bottom of their bunk bed. He stares drearily because Wonwoo’s only wearing a pair of striped boxers and a greying, old shirt but he looks sort of cute with his eyes half-closed, still sleepy and the bed hair that sticks up all over the place. He’s seen the sight a hundred times, but only now, under the buzz he’s feeling, does he feel something tug at his heartstrings like a stringed instrument being played for a crowd. 

“I’m thirsty,” is what he responds when he can finally think sort-of coherently, pushing aside the bullshit feeling tingling in his chest.

“There’s water if you’re thirsty—you really need to stop drinking. Soonyoung, this is getting out of hand.” He takes a step closer, and Soonyoung wishes he could take a step back, but his feet and hand are glued in place and all of a sudden he can almost feel Wonwoo’s breath on his face—so close, yet so far. He refuses to let his eyes trail down to the boy’s lips. Instead, he brings the bottle up to his own, caressing the lip of the glass instead as the cold liquid burns his throat on the way down his gullet.

He hardly feels the slap to his hand that throws the bottle from his grasp, and only then does he realise how intoxicated he really is. His gaze is lax and slow as it follows the bottle skid across the tour bus floor, spilling the contents with every slide and spin. He meets Wonwoo’s eyes again and he knows he’s angry, but he can’t find it in himself to process it enough to care.

“You’re really going to ignore me? Just like that?” Wonwoo’s voice is harsh, croaky with sleep, but it fails to pierce Soonyoung’s drunken exterior. “You think I don’t notice when you get out of bed in the early hours of the morning, whether it’s to have a drink or smoke a roll up or a joint? You’ve been doing it for days, don’t deny it—I’m not stupid, Soon! I’ve heard you and seen the empty cans and bottles in the morning. You _can’t_ keep doing this.” 

Soonyoung blinks, once, twice, slowly. “You spilled my beer.”

“Christ—Jihoon told me that both he and Jeonghan had to help get you into bed when you passed out on the floor of your hotel room! He told me what state you were in, the smell, everything!”

He takes a deep breath and manages to pull his gaze towards the mini fridge by his shins, turning to pull open the door with a satisfying clink. Everything is wavy now, but Soonyoung tries to make a mental note to remember to stick Jihoon’s best drumsticks up his ass in the morning, grasping a can of _Heineken_ out from the bottom shelf. The metal is cold against his warm hand, shutting the fridge with his knee. It’s a shame, he thinks, that a good beer was wasted. Opening the new can, he takes a sip and sighs as Wonwoo lets out a scoff in disbelief.

“Really, Soonyoung? Really?” Wonwoo started, frustration heavy in his deep voice. “You’re going to ignore me when I’m trying to help you? You’re such an asshole, you know that? I’m just wasting my time. Fine, you know what? One day you’ll pass out on stage or in your room or in our bunk from drinking or smoking, you’ll be choking on your own vomit and I can tell you now that I won’t be the one to make sure your ass is okay, okay? I’ve tried, you motherf…”

He trails off and Soonyoung can’t tell whether he sees Wonwoo’s eyes watering or not as the boy turns around to head back to bed, hands clenched into fists at his sides. It’s been a while since he’s seen Wonwoo this upset or angry—it’s usually Jihoon that snaps at him, but he’s used to that. Seeing this side of the taller boy makes him nervous. He decides to get rid of that anxiety with a sip of his drink. He knows what he should say to him, but he can’t lie, he can’t give Wonwoo false hope by telling him he’d stop drinking, stop taking his _meds_ with a drink, stop taking his meds with a joint _and_ a drink. He knows he should say sorry even though he’s not, tell him he’ll get help, place his lips against his neck and kiss the skin there to make him forget all about this stupid argument… but the alcohol in his veins prevents him from doing any of those options (especially the latter).

Instead, the liquid courage makes him into more of an idiot than he already is, and suddenly he’s on fire, opening his mouth to yell at four in the morning in a coach full of sleeping band members. “You’re acting like you don’t enjoy a drink as much as I do—if not more! I know you, Jeon Wonwoo! You’re no better than me! I know you get wrecked almost every night after a show, I know you spend all your money on _Jack_ and _Stella_ and god knows what else at the bar! So don’t you try and take the high ground when you’re just as fucked up as I am!”

He wants Wonwoo to turn around so he can see his face, see if anger is burning in his eyes or bubbling in his stomach, if impatience is boiling his blood. He doesn’t care if he’s woken the other members, hearing them stir and grumble; he wants them all to witness him losing his shit.

A low, slow, tired, “Fuck you,” is all he gets as the boy climbs back into his bunk, turning his back to Soonyoung as he takes another sip of his beer and stares at the puddle by the bottle on the floor.

 

/

 

It only takes three months for Soonyoung to realise that what he’d been told was right—that what Jihoon and Wonwoo and the rest of the members had told him was completely and utterly right. He wishes he could go back and put down that last drink; he knows he can’t.

When Seungcheol takes him aside with furrowed brows and tells him that they’re taking a few weeks break, postponing the tour, he knows he has to get his shit in gear. He’s missed too many sound checks after waking up exhausted or still drunk from the night before, taken more of his medication than he should have when he realises he’s missed a sound check, just to attempt to submerge the self-loathing he feels all over. He started needing more and more coffee and liquor to stay awake through an entire concert, to enjoy himself like he used to before he became so fucked up. He started forgetting lyrics, notes, what it was like to fall into bed with Wonwoo, and with that he needs more alcohol to stop thinking about all the stupid, useless things clouding his head: like the thought of kissing Wonwoo or saying something dumb that would make Wonwoo think they’re anything more than fuck buddies. Which they’re not. Never will be.

Soonyoung finally admits he’s got a problem—“alcoholism” or “addiction” or some shit, whatever so-called professionals want to label it, he doesn’t care—and he knows he has to get away, even if it’s for the two weeks Seungcheol’s arranged on his behalf. He’s grateful someone else cares about him, when he doesn’t care about himself. 

Packing his bag with the bare essentials, Soonyoung fights everything in his body telling him to raid the mini fridge just across the hotel room from him. It’s humming a sweet melody that’s music to his ears, and he can just about make out the faint welcoming glow from its interior. He barely manages to slip on his shoes before he’s half-running out of the room and down the stairs to the taxi he’s ordered, forgetting to say goodbye to Wonwoo in the shower. He needs to get away—from alcohol, from the drugs, from the thoughts telling him to strip down to his skin and join the boy under the hot water. So, he tells the taxi driver to just drive, not knowing where he’d end up.

Which is why when Seokmin opens the door, he’s very surprised—happy to see him, but surprised. Soonyoung had never planned to come and stay with his high school best friend, but he’d always lived on impulse. The bag in his hand quickly alerts the taller boy to the nature of his visit, and despite being wildly unprepared for visitors, welcomes Soonyoung in with an ever-warm smile.

Soonyoung thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

The taller boy is his only other friend outside of the band, he supposes as he dumps his bag on the couch and accepts the fresh mug of coffee Seokmin hands to him. Unless the brunette hadn’t approached him at the lunch table during their first week of high school and told him he liked his _Gola_ bag, Soonyoung isn’t sure they would have ever been friends (he adored that bag and he knewhe had to be friends with anyone who thought they were as cool as he did). At Seokmin’s insistence that they stick together, a younger, livelier version of himself had agreed and made a best friend for life. Through first heartbreaks and goofing off in physical education, he’d always been there for him and Soonyoung returned the favour up until he met Jihoon in junior year, the band came along and distance became more natural as his mental health deteriorated. But as he sits there in Seokmin’s house with his palms against the sides of the hot mug, he realises nothing about Seokmin has changed: it’s all him. 

He spends most of the two weeks on the couch sleeping or being doted on by his friend. He doesn’t speak to his flatmates, doesn’t know them and doesn’t want to—as long as they help Seokmin pay the rent, that’s all the information he needs. They stay out of his way for the most part, only passing by to pick up his empty glasses of water or quickly check what’s happening on the news.

Seokmin brings up rehabilitation once when he’s cooking dinner for him, but Soonyoung can’t think of anything worse than being kept in a centre where he’s told what to do and when to do it. Well, he can think of one thing—one feeling for a certain boy—that he might consider being worse, but he’s stubborn and he pretends he doesn’t hear his friend over the sound of the sizzling food in the frying pan. He’s _fine_ and he can do this alone.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night from the horrific nightmares he has, Seokmin is always there in an instant. When Soonyoung’s not sleeping, he’s crying into his friend’s arms, letting the younger boy gently stroke his hair in an attempt to calm him. When he’s not crying, settling back under the covers thrown over the sofa for him, he’s staring at his phone, trying not to call Wonwoo. He feels everything he didn’t before, and he knows he’s let the band down when he begins to miss the music as a distraction from his heart.

He’s craving a drink more than he ever has in his life now that his mind is so clear, so crisp and he can only picture those deep brown eyes, sometimes hidden behind round-framed glasses before the boy puts his contacts in. He just wants the image to go away, and so he tries to watch a movie or listen to music to drown out the heavy beating of his heart in his ears. Seokmin’s suggestion is still not an option.

He’d given up a lot of songwriting once the band had first started to get their big break by signing on for a recording contract, leaving it up to Jihoon and Wonwoo to pen the lyrics and tunes of their songs. After overhearing the producer at their studio speaking so highly of their group’s drummer and his talent for melodies Soonyoung lost all confidence in his writing and lost a small means of escape, happy to play and perform the songs by his friends. Scratch that, not happy, dealing.

Soonyoung picks up a pen for the first time in years one evening when he’s too drained to cry anymore and far too scared to fall asleep. He sits on the sofa with a spare duvet at his ankles in the early morning, Seokmin’s roommates’ snoring filling his ears from another room as he takes a scrap piece of paper from the coffee table along with a pen and begins to write. His face hurts from straight days of sobbing and Soonyoung is glad he no longer has any more tears in his body to cry, able to expel his feelings through ink on paper rather than through salt water onto silk pillows until he’s able to fall asleep.

“Hey,” Seokmin gently wakes him one day, holding out a plate of food that looks to die for. “I made you breakfast so you don’t go back starving. And I’d rather not have you burn my house down on your last morning here.”

It takes Soonyoung a minute or two after he finishes stuffing the first bits of bacon in his mouth to realise that his two-week rest is up, he has to go back to playing sold out shows with his band on the road. He doesn't know if two weeks are enough to set him straight, he just hopes so—hopes he's one of those miracle home rehab cases where all it took was distance and discipline. Swallowing his mouthful, he puts the plate down on his lap and smiles weakly at Seokmin before he stands to leave for work.

"Hey, Seok? Thanks," he starts, voice gruff from his recent waking, the cigarettes he's been smoking since he was seventeen and the leftover food in his mouth. "Not just for the food and lodging, but for everything." It's the first time he's said anything even remotely grateful and kind in so long, it almost tastes sour in his mouth. But it's the least he can do after showing up out of nowhere to crash on a couch for two weeks at a time.

Seokmin grins, features lighting up and Soonyoung wishes he still had the same enthusiasm his best friend harboured, much like in the days of high school before he became so fucked up.

When he returns to the hotel, it requires him taking several deep breaths before he can actually make it inside. He hasn't spoken to the members or manager for the entire two weeks, but at least now, he thinks, he can get through almost a full day on five cups of coffee and only six cigarettes, the weight of a rough song in his pocket. It's still a lot, but there's no alcohol running through his system anymore. He won't let himself repeat the past few months ever again.

 

/

 

After he unpacks and says hello to everyone, concerned eyes all around, it's like he never even took a break and is back on stage. Only this time he feels it—he feels that electricity he's been missing the past few months when things got really bad, when the only buzz he would get was from mixing his weed and a few drinks before the show. But now it's like the crowd's screams are alive in his veins, they're in every breath of air and in every backing note he sings into the cold microphone. It feels great to be able to feel the strings of the guitar under his fingertips, and the length of the neck in his calloused palm.

But, Soonyoung knows he has to take precautions as they return to their hotel, and that means he can't share a room with Wonwoo.

Instead, he asks Jihoon to room with him, and he can feel Wonwoo's hard look on his back when he drags his suitcase into a different room from his. Jeonghan and Joshua sound excited at the prospect of not sharing a room with Jihoon, but Soonyoung knows that Wonwoo isn't equally as thrilled about not sharing with him. But, he can't. He won't let himself be tempted to slip back into old habits, no matter how much he wants to. God, he wants to.

He takes the bed furthest from the mini fridge, even though he watches Jihoon take out the pre-stocked beverages one by one and give them to Seungcheol. It makes his throat dry and his pulse raise at the sight, so he takes himself to the balcony and fishes out a cigarette from the packet in his jacket pocket. He wishes he wasn't so weak as he lights the end and inhales the bitter smoke until it fills his lungs, easing some of the anxiety coursing through him. He can tell he's due for some medication when he visualises the smoke in his lungs turning black and choking him.

When he glances over at the neighbouring balcony he notices that the door is open, no doubt because someone had just been out there for a smoke like him. But the sounds of voices from inside chase the picture away and suddenly he can breathe as he releases the smoke through his nose. Soonyoung recognises Wonwoo's voice and his feet tingle in anticipation to disappear back into the hotel room so he doesn't have to listen to the conversation he's having. But he doesn't make the move, so he just listens.

"—to know why he's avoiding me..." He saus, voice seeming too loud for such a silent night. Soonyoung refuses to let himself believe he hears something in his voice, a hint of emotion he wants to hear. He leans over the railings, staring down at the moving figures in the darkness below. He doesn't need to make links that don't exist, it will just hurt too much.

There's a pause from inside as the other person finds the strength to reply. It's Jeonghan. "He's not avoiding you."

"Then why share wih Jihoon and not me? And use a separate dressing room?" Soonyoung takes a drag from his cigarette.

"He's just not sharing with you tonight, okay?" Jeonghan replies, almost irritated, because even he thinks that surely it's the most obvious thing in the world? The others may not know the full extent, but they know he can't admit to them that he can't help himself around the other boy. "And what does the dressing room even matter? We always switch."

"That's not an answer, Jeonghan and you know it."

Soonyoung's beginning to get a headache, running his free hand over his face before pressing the pads of his thumb and forefinger into his closed eyes, colours forming and swirling in different patterns in the dark. Maybe, he thinks, if he keeps his eyes shut then Wonwoo will disappear, and he'll wake up from this nightmare on the partial-comfort of Seokmin's couch. But he knows that won't happen, so he clenches his teeth, tries to push away this feeling Wonwoo's ignited in him, and opens his eyes.

He doesn't hear the rest of what they're saying because the pair of them move futher into the room and he thinks he hears a door open and close. End of discussion.

 _I just don't want to fall back down to rock bottom again... old habits, old routine_. Soonyoung finishes the conversation in his head with a sigh. He's tired, has been for a long time, but it's only now washing over him like a tidal wave with his brief internal confession of sadness. He won't ruin himself anymore, or at least he'll try not to. _There's your answer_.

Except the alcohol was the only thing taking the weight off of his feelings, the weed and other drugs raising him high when in reality he was at his lowest, the cigarettes stopping him from overthinking every stupid little situation, and the meaningless sex... purely to ride off the high of a show.

When the night becomes too quiet and there is no sign of anyone returning to the neighbouring room, Soonyoung can't take being outside in the cold evening air any longer. Extinguishing his barely touched cigarette on the cool, shiny railing and shuffles back inside the hotel room, locking himself in the bathroom to take a cold shower.

 

/

 

If he remembers correctly he thinks, maybe one of the times he wasn’t drunk was when they received their first music award… which is strange when Soonyoung thinks back to it, because award shows are always an excuse to get drunk, to celebrate. But, the reasoning behind his moment of restraint, the reason he decided on that occasion that he didn’t want to touch the alcohol was that he knew that this moment would bring him a happiness that could blot out the darkness better than any drink ever could. He didn’t need to take away that moment with a beer or two or six or seven until he could no longer see straight, could no longer remember the feeling of walking onto stage and receiving a trophy for the first time when he wakes up the next morning with a hangover. And Soonyoung thinks maybe, as he’s adjusting his tie (he never wore ties, Jeonghan had to force him to) it’s all been worth it. His pain, his insecurities, their hard work, their struggle: it’s all meant something at that moment. From then onwards things will start to get better. He hopes.

But in the midst of the abundance of sounds, brightness of the lights, the LED screens flashing around them, he remembers passing the trophy over to his side and someone’s hand touching his; all of those corny sparks and tingles and electricity that he hates to see in Hollywood, happened. Because Wonwoo touched his hand and Soonyoung didn’t know what it was that left him with his fingertips burning—he was lucky he didn’t drop the trophy, lucky Wonwoo already had a firm grasp on the hard, heavy silver. 

Soonyoung remembers even though his feelings are complicated and dark and that he can’t admit them to himself, at least then as he stared out at the audience with the spotlight shining down on him and his closest friends, maybe what he is doing is worth it after all. Maybe he can push on and maybe he doesn’t need to drink as much when he has moments like this to keep him going.

He was wrong. As soon as the night is over and the high is gone—not a high from drugs for once, but a high from the rush of being appreciated, rewarded—Seungcheol claps his hands and says now they have to work even harder, make it even further. He realises that moment of euphoria is gone and he’s back to wondering if this is all worth it, as he makes eye contact with a boy pushing up his round-framed glasses. He thinks he’s still missing something.

 

/

 

Soonyoung sometimes wishes it was possible to drown himself in a shower when he forgets to take his medication because it reminds him too much of how he used to be. He tries to tell himself he doesn’t need the three tablets a day now that he’s sober, and plans to be for a long time. He knows that’s not how his brain works, that even with the alcohol absent from making everything distant, he still feels an emptiness so heavy it feels like the weight of three worlds on his shoulders and an unbelievable hollowness in his chest. If only he could drown himself in the cold water turning his skin and lips blue.

He shuts off the shower and steps out of the bathroom with just his towel wrapped around his waist, Jihoon already getting ready to switch the light out. A sudden embarrassment overcomes him in a wave, and it takes a few deep breaths for him to drop the towel and slide into his boxers and a shirt, all with his back turned to his friend. The smaller boy has seen him nude before on many a drunken occasion when Soonyoung finds it hilarious to strip down and parade around with no shame at all; tonight, without the alcohol and with the darker thoughts colouring his mind in black, messy paint, he has trouble even changing into his makeshift pyjamas.

With the pitch black consuming him, Soonyoung realises that the king sized bed is too big, tossing and turning, trying to find any comfortable position, arm outstretched trying to find Wonwoo’s naked, warm body. When he remembers, that’s not how he’s living anymore. He’s rooming with Jihoon for a reason, even if he’s going crazy whilst alone in the unfamiliar hotel bed. It’s almost like he’s back at Seokmin’s again, nightmares waiting just behind his eyelids every time he feels himself drifting off even slightly. He darts awake, feeling a cold sweat coming on, and he knows he can’t sleep alone tonight, especially when Seokmin wasn’t there to cry to, or Wonwoo there to lose himself to… 

He climbs out of his bed an hour later, cold air kissing his skin as he plants his feet onto the carpeted floor, curling his toes into the fibres to steady himself before he pulls back the covers and slides into bed beside Jihoon. His own bed was too empty. 

Jihoon’s always been the one to set him straight, give him something to focus on and hold onto. He proposed Soonyoung make something of himself with “that talent of his” and start a band with him in Joshua’s basement, put his guitar playing skills to good use rather than walk around college with no ultimate goal in mind. He was the start of everything sweet before Soonyoung turned it sour.

He buries his face into the empty pillow, appreciating the ruffled sheets below him and the slight warmth he feels from another body at his side, even if he doesn’t reach out and touch it. It smells distinctly like Jihoon’s aftershave, the same one he’s been wearing since they were both seventeen and had ideas of making it big someday. Soonyoung knows that Jihoon is as much his best friend as Seokmin, even if he would never tell the boy—he reckons he knows anyway; Jihoon seems to know everything.

A slight rustling from behind him alerts Soonyoung of the boy turning around, even if he can’t see him in the pitch black of the room engulfing his sight. He screws up his eyes, ready for Jihoon to grumble and tell him to fuck off back to his own bed because he likes to move around in his sleep; what he doesn’t expect is for Jihoon to shuffle closer and reluctantly wrap an arm around Soonyoung, pressing a soft, almost unnoticeable kiss to the back of his head. It’s enough to make Soonyoung want to tear up, but he won’t.

“I know it’s hard. But, I’m so proud of you,” Jihoon whispers, only just loud enough for Soonyoung to make out, enough for him to think maybe it was all his imagination, that it’s all in his head. But he felt the slight breath against his skin and he knows what the boy said was real and true.

Soonyoung sleeps without nightmares for the first time in weeks.

 

/

 

The tour is going well, t-shirts and wristbands and whatever other crap they’re putting out with their name painted across it is selling well and Soonyoung is, himself, doing well. Or as well as he thinks he can be. As well as he can be with an addiction he’s battling alongside an unbeatable bout of “depression”.

He distracts himself with the music, writing new lyrics to whatever tune Joshua, their singer, has composed on his guitar. It’s something that works for short periods of time, having his bandmate smile at him, hit him on the back and nod in approval before he ups to get ready for a sound check. Joshua makes him feel like he’s useful, not just some worthless back-up singer and guitarist to him, and even with the way he had been acting he still treats him the same as ever. Soonyoung appreciates it, even if he doesn’t think he deserves it.

He still sometimes catches himself watching Wonwoo during the setup for their stages and it takes him back to that first moment things began to change. Shaking his head and turning away, Soonyoung has to tear his eyes from the way Wonwoo laughs at something he and their bassist, Jeonghan are talking about over the clanging of equipment—or is the clanging all in his head? He sometimes forget Wonwoo became closer to the others before him, and that the way he wrinkles his nose in pure delight isn’t a sight solely reserved for him.

Twice a week he calls Seokmin to check in with him and let him know how he’s getting on, a vast difference from how he would only text the boy maybe once a month _if_ he remembered or opened his contact when drunk.

“You have to get me tickets some time. I haven’t heard you play since your debut,” he hears down the phone over the sound of Seokmin’s same-age roommates arguing over something in the background. It’s irritable and Soonyoung wonders how on earth he can live with them, when he remembers how Seokmin is and suddenly understands.

“Whose fault is that?” he challenges, noticing Seungcheol waving at him from the corner of his eye to grab his attention. He pauses and nods, letting out a sigh.

Seokmin chuckles, and Soonyoung almost feels happiness, but not quite. Not yet. “Both of ours, I think. What kind of friend doesn’t get them free concert tickets?”

“And what kind of friend works overtime at a first school and music club so they don’t have time to come to a concert? Listen, I have to go… I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Break a leg.” Call ends.

It’s their third night in the UK in the same venue due to overwhelming demand, and that night Seungcheol invites them all out to celebrate the success of the tour thus far. Jeonghan proposes they go to a pub across from the hotel and Soonyoung is tempted to say no. He doesn’t think spending the evening amongst people with alcoholic beverages stumbling around merry and drunk is a particularly good idea, considering he’s new to this whole “sober” thing, but Jeonghan’s eyes are shining and the rest of the band are equally as excited, seeming to have forgotten about him and his problems. Everyone except Wonwoo, who is looking at him with unreadable eyes and Soonyoung thinks _fuck it_ , who is he to be a spoilsport and ruin the traditions of the band?

He develops a bad habit over the course of this one night of picking his nails until they chip and eventually rip. Every time he sees someone with a beer or a mixer (which is almost every second unless he looks down or runs to the toilet), he feels an itch he can’t quite scratch and he knows he can only get rid of it if he leans across the table and swipes up Jihoon’s drink for himself. But he doesn’t, and so he drinks his glass of lemonade, tries to laugh along with the band and picks at his bloodied fingers until he can no longer feel the pain.

By the end of the night Soonyoung is dancing with strangers, a lot of unknown guys that have approached him and insisted they sway to the terrible music over the old speakers on the makeshift dance floor. All the while, Wonwoo stays frozen with his sixth drink in hand in his seat, his gaze burning a hole into the back of his head with the intensity of his stare.

Soonyoung moves to biting the remainder of his nails instead.

 

/

 

Jihoon was the type of guy Soonyoung had always inspired to be at a young age like sixteen: smart, collected, determined. He never really knew him properly before the start of junior year aside from sitting behind him in english and maths one semester, so when the boy approached him after school as Soonyoung struggled to unlock his bike from where he’d chained it to a rack, he was more than surprised.

“Need a hand?”

Gazing up at Jihoon for a second, Soonyoung turned back to grimace at the lock and threw his hands up in defeat. “Stupid thing won’t come out. I think it’s jammed.”

“Have you tried pushing it into the mechanism and then pulling it out again?”

“Yeah, like I haven’t tried—” _Click_. As Soonyoung scoffed and pushed the end of the lock back into the mouth of the device before giving it a tug, his bike became free. Embarrassment washed over him, cheeks flushing red with the thought of his prior cockiness. “ _Ah._ ”

“I had the same problem with mine,” Jihoon laughs a little, nudging the lock secured around the frame of his own bike. “Except no one was there to help me first time it happened.”

“Thanks.” He supposed a thanks was warranted. The boy had saved him a bus fare.

With a nod, Jihoon unlocked his bicycle and wheeled it away from the other students there, climbing on with intent to set off for home. “I’ll see you in class.” 

That was all Soonyoung thought their brief encounter would amount to - casual hellos in class. But as project season rolled around and he was put with Jihoon to work on a presentation together, the pair found themselves growing closer to the point Soonyoung found out the boy played four instruments but prefered the drums, and he revealed he’d picked up guitar when he was twelve (to drown out his dad’s shouting downstairs). That was all it took so solidify Jihoon as a constant in Soonyoung’s life and soon he was invited around to Jihoon’s friend Joshua’s house to play instruments in his basement.

 

/

 

They're on the tour bus again once their little celebration is over, a few of their crew having graciously moved their belongings from their hotel rooms to their tour bus for a speedy start to their journey. For once, Soonyoung isn't all that sad to not be staying in a hotel room with a bed too big and a mini fridge too full. 

Later that night once they've all settled into their beds moderately intoxicated (all except Soonyoung, and it feels very strange), he finds it difficult to drift off to sleep, despite all the dancing wearing him out, afraid of what nightmares he'll face tonight and how miserable he'll feel in the morning. About an hour into their journey he hears the sounds of footsteps padding on the floor, then the ladder until Wonwoo climbs into his bunk smelling very strongly of the boy's favourite drink: a double _Jack Daniel's_ with _Coke_.

Soonyoung closes his eyes, mutters prayers under his breath for this all to be some fucked up hallucination he's having, a side effect of his medication, and that when he reopens them to the darkness of the room, Wonwoo will be back in his own bunk where he belongs. Because this isn't _their_ bunk anymore.

No amount of prayer to a God Soonyoung doesn't believe in stops Wonwoo from crawling next to him, warm and heavy, whining as he presses himself close to his back. He feels the hot breath against the back of his neck, making the hairs there stand on end. It's... nice, despite Soonyoung biting his lip, trying not to admit it to himself. He curses the sky silently and freezes in place when he feels the familiar missed sensation of another pair of bare feet tangling with his own, bringing him back to reality.

No, no no no. He can't do this. This is how it all repeats itself, and he knows it. Soonyoung has never felt a sensation as strong as the need to bolt from his bed and run away at that moment, but strangely, he also has never wanted to be curled up with Wonwoo as much as he does at that moment as well. His head is on fire and he can't put it out, no matter how hard he tries. With every bucket of water he tries to douse it with, Wonwoo is right there fanning the embers, encouraging the furnace to burn hotter. He can see it coming in the flames if he stays there beside him: the alcohol, the drugs, the sex, the feelings he was trying so hard to escape.

But then strong arms are wrapped around his chest and suddenly he feels drowsy, eyebrows softening from where they had been furrowed, his body relaxing from the anxiety no longer building in his mind. He thinks, maybe, he can survive one night. He's tough, but having someone with him on the hard mattress helps him fight away the demons in his dreams. 

When he leans back against Wonwoo's chest, sinking into his embrace, he already regrets his decision. All he can hear as he falls asleep are Jihoon's soft, whispered words in the back of his mind telling him how proud he is.

He doesn't deserve them. He's nothing to be proud of.

 

/

 

He doesn't speak to Wonwoo much the following day —hopes, in fact, that he doesn't remember anything from the night before, even if all they did was sleep, albeit in each other's arms. Soonyoung hopes he didn't make a conscious decision to climb into his bunk and hold him tight, that it all faded away with the alcohol. He watches Wonwoo across the room from him at their sound check that next morning, wincing as he places a painkiller on his tongue and gulps it down with a swig of his bottle of water. He doesn't seem to recall, and if he does, he's not saying anything about it. For that, Soonyoung is thankful. Wonwoo knows he can't go through what he did before, again, that he's struggling enough as it is to not drink, to stay away from the drugs he knows he can get so easily, and take his prescribed medication on time with the correct fluid.

Soonyoung doesn't pretend like it's easy not going back to his old ways. He sometimes even thinks he prefers how he used to be, until he remembers that night on the coach with Wonwoo and all the times after he would have been more useful dead. He tries not to think like that anymore, but it's so _goddamn_ hard not to slip back into old habits.

But that's the thing, he can feel himself slipping, because being close to Wonwoo was the only thing that helped him feel anything when the stage no longer gave him the thrill it used to, playing their shows. When he found that sensation so much better than performing to a sold-out stadium all screaming his and the band's names, the whole world seemed inadequate compared to Wonwoo.

He hates himself, that's no secret, he's hated himself for a long time, but especially now because he knows he's going to ruin himself again. He can feel himself teetering towards the edge of a very deep hole he's going to fall down and never return from. But he can't stop it, because Wonwoo stops his nightmares, helps him feel again, even if it is just a little.

Every night it feels like the same thing, it's always after they finish a concert and they return to their tour bus to move onto the next city, the next stadium. He tucks himself away from where the boys are drinking, Jihoon watching him across the room for a while until he loses himself to the cans of cider in his hand. It's about three hours on the road when most of them are passed out and Wonwoo makes the intoxicated decision to climb into Soonyoung's bunk. It happens for four straight weeks, and Soonyoung can see his old self in his eyes when he makes the mistake of turning his head to look at him. They're dazed and clouded because of the drink, strong and enticing on his breath, as if Wonwoo is trying to drown his troubles the way Soonyoung always wishes he could drown himself.

But his arms are so warm around him that Soonyoung falls into that hole faster than he would ever have liked; he can’t even claw at the edge in an attempt to pull himself back up. Wonwoo holds him and Soonyoung sleeps so soundly, without any nightmares and that's how it works for those four weeks; until one day as Wonwoo closes the space behind him, he presses his nose and lips to his neck, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer.

Soonyoung doesn't think he hears it properly at first - or maybe he just doesn't _want_ to hear it, the breath hot against his skin and hair. But he sounds so needy, his deep, throaty voice breaking at the end of his words and Soonyoung is taken back to all the times he stumbled into Wonwoo's bed, high or drunk or a little (a lot) of both, eroding him from the inside like waves tearing into the side of a fragile cliff – the exact one he feels himself plummeting from into the sharp rocks below. The burning in his stomach, on the other hand, knows exactly what he heard. 

"Soonyoung... I miss you."

Those three words are all it takes.

He turns and pushes Wonwoo down into the hard, thin mattress of his bunk and he knows that once again, it's _their_ bunk. Two minutes later he has the boy pinned under him by his thighs, and Wonwoo is panting, whispering his name so beautifully in that rough voice, just the way he always did before. When he finally gets Wonwoo to turn onto his stomach, it's like nothing ever changed, he's thrusting into him fast and hard but this time he's completely aware of everything he's doing.

Because of that reason, Soonyoung keeps his hands firmly on Wonwoo's side, under his shirt that they didn't quite manage to undress with his bottom half. Their hands don't meet, fingers don't entwine because he is completely clear-headed and he knows it's too intimate for two people who are just bandmates who fuck. After pushing the boy away for so long, Soonyoung doesn't know if he can use the term 'buddy' anymore and something about that stabs his heart. He squeezes his eyes shut so tight he starts to see stars, leaning forward to sink his teeth into Wonwoo's clothed shoulder to stop thinking about stupid shit like that and just lose himself in the boy with a quiet moan.

And, just like that, after that one single mistake of a night, he’s back to his old routine again: Soonyoung’s bunk is once again also Wonwoo’s, and Wonwoo’s is Soonyoung’s; when they have a hotel night, he tells Jihoon he’s sharing with Wonwoo and ignores the boy’s slight frown; Soonyoung thinks maybe he can have just one smoke, because after all, it wasn’t the weed that was fucking him up. Wonwoo sits with him on the bedroom floor by the balcony door, cracked open just enough for the smoke to escape as one blunt turns into three and the patterns on the walls dance around before his eyes in a colourful array like spotlights on a stage.

 

/

 

Seungcheol drives him to the doctor for a check-up more often than not, and Soonyoung supposes it’s good he cares, despite wishing he didn’t. He doesn’t know how to tell him that he feels better than he has in weeks, and he also doesn’t want to admit to himself that it’s all down to Wonwoo… he has more self respect than that. He pins it on the weed, something he is not going to mention he is using again. At least the other drugs have stopped, and he still hasn’t touched a bottle of alcohol. 

He tells the doctor exactly this as his manager waits patiently outside. He hasn’t been touching alcohol, and he certainly doesn’t take his medicine with a hard drink anymore either. The doctor has kind eyes, Soonyoung thinks, as she nods and assures him that’s a positive thing to hear, and that she’s proud, and that he should keep going because this is only half the battle to beat his “depression” or whatever… Soonyoung loses interest as she begins to sound more like Jihoon and Seokmin, and he tries to shut it all out before he feels like crap for falling back into Wonwoo’s arms so easily. Because, no matter if he tells himself he tried hard for four weeks to break old habits, he knows it was no use, the end was already pre-written. He hated the term "beating" depression, "beating" cancer because that implied if they die then they have lost. Maybe to some it's more of a victory. 

The urine sample was inevitable, he’s just glad it’s private and confidential so he doesn’t have Seungcheol waving his finger at him in protest when it comes back positive. He can’t do shit anyway, he’s not his dad, no matter how much he tries to father him. Soonyoung’s a grown man who can make his own decisions – arguably, bad ones, but still his own nonetheless.

The doctor prescribes him a higher dosage when she believes his bullshit about it not working, and Soonyoung just wishes the stuff would give him a buzz like the other stuff he used to take did. Still, he thanks her and crosses his fingers childishly behind his back as he swears he’ll try harder to stay sober from more than just the alcohol… he wishes sobriety from Wonwoo was an option too, but he knows that’s impossible when his heart races thrice the usual speed at the mere thought of his name. 

When Seungcheol tries to make conversation on the way back to the venue, Soonyoung for once complies. It’s the only way to shake his thoughts from his head without access to a pen and paper to write lyrics, no matter how tedious the subject. They end up going over the setlist for that evening, and suddenly Soonyoung feels a slight excitement he rarely gets nowadays shoot up his spine. Maybe the drugs are working after all.

 

/

 

Seungcheol had first got involved with the band when he’d seen them perform at an open mic night at a bar in Toronto. He had interned with a record company over a summer prior to their meeting and had contacts to set them up with executives in high places. Things were looking up. Soonyoung thought maybe all the turmoil he’d gone through regarding regrets and thoughts of failure may finally begin to ease, because the constant headaches surrounding the band and his life that he had started to drown out were becoming too much to handle. He shouldn’t have been feeling like this at twenty years old.

Wonwoo, Jeonghan and Joshua had all taken an instant shining to the man when he offered to buy them all a drink and discuss the possibility of helping them break into the business, on the condition that he took the role of manager. Much like Jihoon seemed to be, Soonyoung was sceptical. They had built this band themselves, and up until now they had been fine managing themselves with Jihoon and Jeonghan taking the reigns of being co-in charge of their group and activities. Surrendering that power to an almost stranger didn’t seem to be a big deal to Jeonghan as he listened to Seungcheol’s plan intently, but it didn’t come as easy to Jihoon.

Over the two and a bit years they had been together as a band, Soonyoung felt like he could read Jihoon pretty well by now, could tell when he was unsure or hesitant about something. He had barely touched the pint in front of them at the table they congregated around, Soonyoung squished up against Wonwoo’s side as they attempted to fit six chairs around what was supposed to be a four-person space. The contact was nice but at the same time a little suffocating; compared to the others, he wasn’t particularly close to the boy in terms of friendship and Soonyoung didn’t know if it was because he found Wonwoo a little intimidating still, or if there was something else he couldn’t put a finger on when he was watching the concentration on the boy’s face as he immersed himself into his art. Come to think of it, the only things he really knew about Wonwoo were observations on his habits —he liked to smoke, maybe they’d do that together some time — and the occasional joke or tidbit of information he’d mention on the side.

“So, what do you say?” Seungcheol shook Soonyoung out of what was a sort of trance, realising he’d completely missed the guy’s speech. He took a quick look around at the others to see their expressions, hoping to grasp a sense of the general consensus surrounding the offer. “Should I give you my number?”

“We’ll think about it.” Jihoon sighed, pulling out his phone for the man to input his number into his contacts. “We’ve always done things our own way so we’re going to have to talk some things through first.” 

Soonyoung found his tongue caught in his mouth, unable to say anything. Maybe Seungcheol was the beam of light he needed to clear away the dark night in his mind and usher in a new day.

Making eye contact with Wonwoo then, he sees the boy’s eyes glistening with promise and Soonyoung decides it’s best to turn back to his drink.

 

/

 

It's a hotel night and Soonyoung loves hotels. For someone who has never felt comfortable anywhere for too long, he wishes he stayed in them longer. He hates being cooped up in a small bunk on the tour bus, even if now he has Wonwoo's comforting arm around him as they sleep off an intense, spontaneous orgasm together; he prefers pushing Wonwoo all the way from the door of the bedroom to the well-made bed, sometimes letting himself be pulled if he happens to be wearing a tie around his neck. He enjoys taking their clothes off slowly, stripping bare and laughing against Wonwoo's Adam’s apple as the boy trips whilst taking his leather trousers off. He feels almost giddy, as if he's thirteen again and at the prime of his life. He actually feels... happy.

He loves hotel nights because Wonwoo always stumbles onto the bed when his knees hit the edge of the mattress, pulling Soonyoung down on top of him with a groan as he falls. It hurts when they bash chins or knees, but Wonwoo laughs with his eyes closed and his nose scrunched like he does when he's genuinely happy, mouth open in delight and Soonyoung thinks nothing else matters in the world.

These days it’s show after show of sold out arenas, moving from country to country, and it’s nice to end the night on a high – only, not from a blunt on the balcony. The two of them escape the after parties and head straight to their hotel before anyone notices they’re gone so they can celebrate to their own heart's content. Soonyoung’s away from any temptation except the boy below him, smiling up at him on the bed, slightly tipsy from the drinks he consumed before slipping away to their shared room.

Wonwoo's under him in less than five minutes once they reach their hotel room that specific night. The night Soonyoung's world started to get even more messed up, incomprehensible. He's wearing nothing except his smile, all teeth and wrinkled brow as Soonyoung hungrily presses his lips to the boy's collar bone so he doesn't go back to thinking about kissing him as he always does - even when sober he can't help himself. He can't wait to turn the boy around, see a sheen of sweat sparkle under the dim lights and have Wonwoo scream his name because there's no reason to be quiet or secret in their secluded dual room.

 But that's where Soonyoung's plan goes completely awry and spirals out of his control. 

When he growls into Wonwoo's skin, asking—no, instructing him to turn around as usual so he can press himself into the boy's back and fuck him until Soonyoung sees stars, the boy ignores him, shifting until he's leaning on his elbows with a smile on his face. It takes Soonyoung a second to process that either he's being disobeyed or that Wonwoo simply didn't hear the words mumbled into his skin. Wonwoo moves so his head is sinking into the duck-feather pillow at the head of the bed and he reaches out, motioning for Soonyoung to move closer, making slight whining noises whilst opening and closing his hands. Something in the pit of Soonyoung's stomach flips, his heart racing more than usual in his aroused state from such a small, almost innocent act. It's new to him, and he can't erase the fact Wonwoo is both completely irresistible and sexy as well as overwhelmingly sweet in that singular moment. He doesn't know if that's even possible, but Wonwoo manages to make him process those thoughts all at once as they are both naked, already panting and beginning to sweat.

The boy pouts at him, and Soonyoung finds himself crawling forward without any second thought, climbing over his body to continue pressing his lips to the boy's neck. Maybe now they can get back to their normal routine. 

Wrong. Wonwoo proceeds to surprise him further, moving his hips up to press them closer together, breathing hard against Soonyoung's ear. Soonyoung gasps, grinding down, skin against skin, until he has to pull himself away for just a minute. It's new and so fast and the unknown of Wonwoo not doing as he's told reminds him of what it was like when they first found themselves falling into bed together after their first proper tour.

Biting his lip so hard it goes numb, he stops himself from letting noises fall so easily from his mouth this early on. When it came to Soonyoung, everything was a competition, a battle - his addiction, his depression, his time in bed - and there was no way he was going to be the one moaning first; he knows how to win this war in a matter of seconds, knowing Wonwoo's weak spot was the inside of his thigh and the bottom of his Adam's apple. He runs his tongue along the spot on his neck with a flourish, feeling the taller boy shudder a little under him, still pressed firmly together until he moves to bite down on the flesh of Wonwoo's thigh. 

That's all it takes to muster a melodic, deep, throaty groan from the boy and Soonyoung peers up from his endeavours to observe as his head sinks deeper into the pillow, exposing even more of his neck that Soonyoung can't wait to press his lips into once more. He caresses the skin of his thigh with one last kiss before pulling his lips away with a wet smack, smirking in satisfaction at his knowledge of how to make Wonwoo break like a toothpick.

Wonwoo's legs lace themselves around his waist as Soonyoung decides he can get the boy to turn around later. At this moment, he's savouring every moment he gets to watch Wonwoo's chest rising and falling as he works on the boy in preparation for what's to come. It only takes a finger or two to make him become a mess in a matter of seconds and Soonyoung doesn't think he'll ever get tired of the sight, doesn't know how he gave this up for so long. He wouldn't take any drink or drug in the world over the sight before him at that moment in time.

He rests his sweaty head on Wonwoo's shoulder, dyed hair sticking to his skin as he opens his mouth to repeat his earlier request. Just before the words leave his tongue, he feels hot breath against his reddening ears and he almost stops breathing at the broken voice Wonwoo uses to speak.

"Soonyoung... I want to see you."

That was all it took to throw Soonyoung completely off kilter, send him hurtling headfirst into a deep pool of water, unable to breathe or figure out which way is up. He freezes his hand and despite Wonwoo whining in protest, trying to grind down to continue his stimulation, he can't physically move. Soonyoung blinks, pulling his head back slowly to look at Wonwoo straight in the eyes through his clumping hair and blurred vision. He frowns, mouth agape and only a few inches from the boy's as he tries to force the hot air surrounding them into his lungs. He can't quite believe what he heard until he hears the request again.

Wonwoo groans, still trying to feel Soonyoung's fingers, stuttering through the words one more time. "Fuck, Soonyoung. I need to see you. I want to see your face when you come. I need to see your face."

Soonyoung then removes his fingers slowly, gulping because they've never done anything like making eye contact when fucking before. He thinks back to the mistakes he made when linking fingers with the boy, and all the thoughts of kissing that plague him constantly like a fever he can't fight off, far too intimate for what they are - just two bandmates, high school acquaintances brought together for the music by their mutual friends. Instead, he presses his thumbs firmly into Wonwoo's sides so he knows there will be deep purple bruises there in the morning; his chest is burning and he doesn't know how to stop it, everything is too hot, too much, his stomach feels light and it's like he's free-falling into the unknown. He has a choice here; he knows that if he steps over this line, there's no going back to what they were as 'just bandmates, maybe friends, who happen to fuck after a mind-blowing show'.

He's the most terrified he's ever been in his life, but there's nothing more he wants in the world than to take that step.

So with a nod, one of Wonwoo's wide smiles spreads across his face, a mix of two different types of pleasure, and Soonyoung lines himself up; he takes a deep breath before sinking into the boy with one hard push. He screws his eyes shut so tight he sees the stars he's so familiar with he could probably start naming them like constellations, and all he feels is the complete warmth of Wonwoo encompassing every inch of his body. He can't bear to peel open his eyelids and see the expression on the boy's face when he's making such gorgeous mewls that rattle him to his very core. It's the hottest thing Soonyoung has ever heard and he's sure he's heard every possible noise come out of the boy's mouth all from just his touches and teasing.

Soonyoung continues to press his fingers into Wonwoo's sides, sometimes massaging his thumbs into the skin as he engulfs the scent of the room that's starting to build. Before it smelled of whatever Wonwoo had been drinking, his shirt spattered with drops of cider and beer, but as they press as close as possible Soonyoung begins to smell the familiar scent of salty sweat and sex mixed with the pre-existing odour of the room. At least it's not a dressing room, he thinks, and he remembers how much he loves hotel rooms where they can do this.

His heart races faster when he realises how intimate he and Wonwoo are being, more than just the sex, but the fact he's facing the boy and with one simple opening of his eyelids he would come face to face with the taller man and his deep chocolate eyes. He feels a rush of anxiety wash over him and he wishes he could escape for a smoke, but not so much that he is willing to lose Wonwoo right then and there - not when he feels so good. He misses the surge of adrenaline, the rush of confidence he gets when standing on a stage, guitar in hand and mic before him, playing for a crowd of a couple of thousand. It's stupid, and he knows it, especially in his current predicament, but he knows the nervousness he's feeling is because the person he's with and the moment he's in are too important to screw up.

He shakes his head, sweat on his forehead dripping down his nose and jawline, splattering Wonwoo's already glistening chest and he knows he has never needed a drink more than in that moment. What he would give to down a bottle of whisky and not have to think stupid thoughts like how important Wonwoo is to him...

Soonyoung moves his hips back and grunts, pushing further into the boy below him, harder than before to lose himself to the pleasure instead, letting it numb him for the remainder of their time in that hotel room. That is, he thinks, until he feels fingers curling into his sweaty hair, tugging his head back until he moans and falls forward to press his forehead to the boy's. Whereas he regularly sinks his teeth into the boy's skin, kisses along his collarbones as he did earlier when nearing his climax, Soonyoung feels as if Wonwoo is controlling him and is unable to pull his head away from the boy's skin which is flush against his own. He can't find it in him to move away as he continually draws out noises from the boy below him with every movement.

"Soonyoung, please." Wonwoo groans throatily, nails digging into his scalp and now the skin at his back from where they had previously been curled into the sheets. It's low and rough and much like before, Soonyoung can feel something rising in his gut. He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, nothing but colours in bright spots before him. "Please. I want you to look at me. Soonyoung, fuck, open your eyes."

Soonyoung knew this is where everything was about to spiral out of control—god, he can't even remember why they decided to fuck for the first time, and now he's in far too deep. Literally. Wonwoo's voice sounds rough like it does after every concert, croaky and broken from chanting with the crowd above his keyboard. It's all too much, from the sounds, the heat, the movement, the pleasure and he's breathless. Something runs down his spine like a jolt of electricity, so hot it's unbearable, Wonwoo's words running through his mind on a constant loop.

He opens his eyes and is almost blinded by the man before him, despite the light being dull overhead. Soonyoung regrets doing so as soon as his eyes lock with Wonwoo's. 

He's so vulnerable underneath him, mouth open, head tilting back and away from his forehead now as he begins to pick up even more pace. The warmth in his belly is growing and it feels so wrong to be staring at Wonwoo's beautiful face up close and so intimate, noting the crease of his nose, the flush of his tanned cheeks, the length of his lashes and the shape of his cupid’s bow. His lips are a rosy pink and Soonyoung is so close, he could lean in just a few centimetres more and...

He blinks hard and swallows, fucking Wonwoo faster in the way he knows the boy likes it. It's so new, seeing him up close as his movements send ripples of pleasure through his body; he can't help but close a fist into the pillow beside the taller boy's head as Soonyoung makes him scream his name louder than he's ever done before on their tour bus or any other hotel room. He tries not to read into it being due to their situation, tries to distance himself despite his burning arousal, but he never looks away.

When Wonwoo comes, loud, with his mouth and eyes wide open, Soonyoung's hand around his length, and his name leaving his lips in a fractured moan, Soonyoung can’t help but close his eyes again. The image is burned into his retinas, into his brain, it's something he will never be able to shake: the light in his eyes, the sound and the smile he sees as the boy comes down from the ride. That's all it takes for Soonyoung to press into him a final few times and sink his head into the boy's chest before he reaches his climax, pleasure rushing over his body like never before. It makes everything easier for those few seconds until he's pulling away to fall onto the mattress beside Wonwoo, and suddenly all those thoughts and feelings come seeping back.

 

/

 

Halfway through the night, Soonyoung knows he has to get away from Wonwoo and his arm curled loosely around his naked chest. He can't sleep, the look on Wonwoo's face from a few hours ago keeping him awake into the early morning. He can see the beginnings of sunrise from out of the balcony window, and it's too hot and confusing to stay where he is.

He sits up slowly, careful not to wake Wonwoo from where he's sleeping so soundly, snoring slightly in a way that irritates Soonyoung as to how domestic they seem. He can't look at him, he's not strong enough for that because he knows all he will see is the same face over and over and... 

Crawling out from under the covers, he goes to the balcony and lets himself outside into the cold air, completely naked. The temperature and fresh breeze does nothing to stop his sudden new sweat and fuzzy mind, and the off-license sign across the road glows with a horribly vivid green, so after five minutes he makes his way back inside to pace. He thinks maybe he'll wear the carpet out, walking backwards and forwards, hands in his hair, the bundle of sheets and Wonwoo amongst them in the corner of his eye. It's driving him crazy so he goes to wash his face.

The light is too bright in the bathroom and it's too claustrophobic, and suddenly he can't breathe. His chest is heavy and Soonyoung forces himself to take deep breaths as the sweat runs into his eyes and drips from his chin. The tap trickles out a slow stream of water, not enough to wake Wonwoo but enough to fill his hands and splash it on his skin to cool himself down. 

He doesn't remember emptying a few of his prescription tablets into his wet palm, but Soonyoung knows they're meant to make him happy—or at least, that's what he thinks he hears when he doesn't listen to the doctor as she talks him through what is wrong with him and how they can help. He stares down at the five tablets in his hand, knowing he's already taken a dose far too recently to be taking any now, especially five, but he doesn't see how they can't make him feel better than he does. 

He swallows them dry, and coughs, throat coarse from his raw vocal chords and he can't stand it anymore.

Soonyoung silently exits the bathroom and throws on his discarded jeans, shirt and shoes from the floor, forgetting about his underwear. He escapes from the room, from Wonwoo, only his wallet in hand. He sees the boy's face no matter how fast he sprints down the dark hall, automatic lights flickering on a second too late as he speeds past them and heads for the stairs. An elevator would take too long to arrive that he would lose his mind, so he takes the stairs three-by-three, landing on the ground floor with a leap. He pushes his way through the lobby and out into the night at around 5am.

The neon sign across the street is singing with a low hum and the lights inside illuminate the words ' **OPEN 24 HOURS** ' in the window.

Soonyoung steps into the store and grabs as many cases of beer as he can carry, paying the young, tired-looking cashier with a wad of notes before slipping back into the street.

Sitting on the curb outside his hotel, his band mates and manager fast asleep, Wonwoo fast asleep, Soonyoung opens a bottle of _Budweiser_ on the side of the pavement and lets the golden liquid inside caress his tongue in its familiar, welcoming sweetness.

 

/

 

It's a secret at first, every time he goes to take a drink is under the cover of nightfall at three-in-the-morning when he knows everyone is passed out. He knows he's letting himself down when he was doing so well, but most of all he's letting everyone else down. Seungcheol had allowed him to get away from this life for a while, Seokmin had allowed him to stay with him and help him start his sobriety, Jihoon had told him he was proud of him... 

Proud. The word rattles around his head as he swallows the last gulp of his cider on the curb outside their hotel that evening. He's done nothing to deserve that word associated with him, not since he won first prize in his spelling competition at age ten. Especially not since he became so fucked up in the head. Jihoon’s like a brother to him at this point; he’s always wanted a brother, but he’d hoped that just maybe he would have been able to see through his thin exterior and realise he wasn’t okay. He lets out a dry laugh, swaying to the side before Soonyoung catches himself and opens another drink.

But, every night after their concerts when they return to a hotel in a different city, Wonwoo either drags him into the room or is waiting on the bed with a smile pulling at his lips. Soonyoung wants to tell him what's happening, but that would require explaining as to how he fell back into old habits and he isn't ready to accept the reason just yet; instead he locks the door, dims the lights and fucks him with his eyes open and locked with Wonwoo's, his first request now becoming regular routine despite the pain in Soonyoung's heart.

When they're both spent and have rolled off one another's sticky bodies, Soonyoung has to retreat to an open window or balcony to have a smoke, stealing one of Wonwoo's cigarettes from the packet in his coat. He realises he's misplaced his lighter when Wonwoo comes to his rescue, holding out the yellow flame for him to light up his cigarette. He doesn't thank him and they don't talk, wishing he could be out here alone to drown in his tsunami of anxiety.

With the silence looming between them heavy and suffocating, Wonwoo places a gentle palm to the back of his neck before making his way back inside. Soonyoung doesn't know what it means, but the touch burns his skin in the freezing air of the night and is warmer than the poison between his lips, inhaling the smoke into his lungs. He doesn't know how long he stays out there, but it's like he's lost all comprehension of time. He's sated and should be happy but he isn't, and no cigarette is going to help him.

Soonyoung retrieves the case of alcohol from under his bed where he had hidden it earlier and looks over at Wonwoo's snoring form, before he locks himself in the bathroom. Perching on the lid of the toilet, Soonyoung pauses before cradling the drinks close to his chest, hunching over as his throat closes up and tears prick at his eyes like lava welling up from an active volcano. It hurts to cry without making any noise— _no_ , he thinks, this isn't  simply crying; he lets out a sob, his whole body shaking and beginning to sweat as the water pours from his eyes onto the cardboard. His hands tremble, but he manages to pull out the first bottle, unable to read the words on the label; at this point he neither remembers nor cares what brand of alcohol he purchased, they all do their job of digging him deeper into his grave. So, with a click, Soonyoung just about manages to prise off the bottle cap using the tap on the sink and downs the bottle in a matter of seconds.

It's the same routine every night: he fucks Wonwoo with his eyes open and his heart on the line, he goes out into the cold air to try and clear his head before he gets drunk on whatever stash of alcohol he has hidden away in his suitcase or under his bed. He just needs the feelings to stop, he needs the drink more than before, and he tells himself that it's different this time even though he knows it's not. He drinks away the ridiculous thoughts, incomprehensible feelings and the guilt that lingers in the back of his mind when Jihoon's words echo in his head.

_"I know it's hard. But, I'm so proud of you."_

/

 

His nails are beginning to grow back now that he no longer has to substitute for the loss of alcohol. He no longer has to wear bandaids dotted with _Hello Kitty_ that Jeonghan supplied for him with a teasing grin. It’s nice to no longer feel pain rippling at his fingertips as well as through his veins and thoughts; it makes playing the guitar a lot easier too, not having to wince every time the strings skim the sore skin beneath his torn nails. Yet he still supposes bloody nails and stinging fingertips are better than hazy nights and his sobriety bursting into flames with every drink he takes. 

Soonyoung isn’t able to hide his drinking habits for as long as he wishes he could. He wishes he could be the person everyone wants to be when he’s in their presence, but be able to drink away the weight on his shoulders until he feels light as a feather, high up in the sky, floating with no worries at all. But he knows the higher up you fly, the further you have to fall —he’s just waiting for someone to snip his wings, pop his bubble and watch as he plummets towards the ground. Whom he doesn’t expect to be the first to pluck a feather, however, is Josh.

They’re finishing up their last set of concerts in North America before they’re heading back to Europe and Soonyoung enters his dressing room to change his shirt when he finds Josh staring down at a can of beer in his hand. It takes a second or two for the boy to process what exactly it is he’s holding and when Josh locks his eyes with him, he feels his heart beating out of his chest for entirely different reasons than he’s used to. The boy’s eyes, which are usually kind and sparkling, hold a sense of worry and disappointment as he parts his lips.

“Are you drinking again?” 

It’s as if Soonyoung is suddenly put on mute with the push of a button, staring wildly in panic. If it had been Seungcheol or Jihoon or even Jeonghan he would have had the courage to march over to them and snatch the can out of their hand without a worry. He knows where he stands with them, he knows he can yell and scream and it won't tear him apart from the inside; it's different with Josh. The eyes are the doorway to the soul they say, and Soonyoung can see why: they're soft, patient, and in all the years he's known the boy he has never once lost his temper with him. Soonyoung just can't find it in himself to lie, instead he wants to cry.

"I—" he begins after a deep inhale of air. _Why is it so damn hard to talk about things with everyone?_ He thinks, digging his fingertips into the palm of his hand - although it hurts, he knows it would hurt a lot more if he had nails that could break his skin. "I'm not as bad as I was." 

When the boy looks back down at the can, Soonyoung can feel the sinking feeling in his stomach once again. He has no idea how Joshua is going to react — he can't read him like the others — but all he knows is he's always been so kind to him even when he doesn't deserve it.

"When did this start again? Was it recently?" Josh's voice is calm, but there's a slight interrogative tone Soonyoung doesn't like that reminds him of his doctor. It makes him fidget, crick his neck. 

"Kinda."

"And you're... okay?" 

Feeling compelled to comply with the questioning, Soonyoung nods. It's the best he can do without telling Josh just how absolutely miserable he is and that the alcohol is not the problem. 

After a pause Joshua returns the nod, a small smile pulling at his lips and the corners of his eyes. Soonyoung takes that as an end to the interrogation, still frozen to the spot as he watches Josh crack open the can before outstretching his hand in offering. Mouth agape, Soonyoung can only accept the drink with a small, mumbled thanks as he finally un-glues himself and goes to sit beside the boy on the couch. He observes the boy take a beer of his own out of the mini fridge, the can opening with a slight fizz before he raises it to his lips. He knows Joshua trusts him to not slip back into any more holes and for now he can just pretend that he can enjoy a drink casually rather than being dependent on them to wipe away the feelings he's harbouring deep down in his chest.

And for a while it's nice just sitting there on the sofa with Joshua, drinking the post-concert buzz away into a dark fog.

 

/

 

Soonyoung expects a whirlwind of frustration and lecturing to be headed his way the week after they finish up in North America, a week after Josh found his stash of alcohol and drew out from him the truth (or part of it) so easily. He expects fire to come blasting out of Seungcheol's mouth like a dragon as he pulls him aside and scolds him for doing the exact same thing he tried to stop him from doing; he expects steam to come out of Jihoon's ears as his face reddens and he yells at him for being so completely and utterly stupid, that he trusted he was getting better, that he was _trying_ , only to find out he had given up without a fight; he expects his world to come crashing down around him in one big storm, burying him and everything he still cares about even remotely, ripping them all to shreds.

But none of that happens.

There's no fire, no storm, not even so much as a warning from his manager or friend. The only reason he can think of as to why this has not occurred is that Joshua hasn't told them — he just doesn't understand why. 

He's sitting at the back of the tour bus watching the television with a bottle of _Desperado_ in hand when he notices Wonwoo appear through the coach doors. It's the first night after landing in Sweden and the band are all out at the local bar to celebrate the start of a new leg of the European tour and the New Year being welcomed in; Soonyoung saw it as an opportunity to have the night to himself and his drink, planning to crash out way before any of them return so they never see him intoxicated—the coach is permanently tainted with the odour of alcohol to the point where they will never be able to tell if he has downed the entirety of a pack of twelve, and they’re all going to be too drunk to notice. He doesn't have to hide in the bathroom or his dressing room this way, he won't disappoint anyone because they're not there to catch him. _Happy New Year to me_ , he thinks. It was going well, gulping down the tequila like a desert explorer quenched of thirst until he spotted the one person he definitely doesn't want to see.

Wonwoo stops after taking a few steps forward, raising an eyebrow as their eyes meet and Soonyoung suddenly doesn't know what to do. He panics, closes his eyes and hopes that if he pretends he is suddenly sleeping he won't have to face him. Except they've already spotted one another and the bottle is still tight in his grasp and he knows there's no way a stupid excuse such as sleeping is ever going to work on Wonwoo. So, instead he swallows, saliva polluted with the alcohol as he braces himself to meet the boy's eyes once again. 

"I can explain..." Soonyoung starts and it's surprisingly soft, he just wants to get the first word in before Wonwoo puts two and two together and Soonyoung loses a part of himself.

Wonwoo walks closer, shaking his head with a sigh. "You don't have to. Josh told me."

So that's why Seungcheol and Jihoon hadn't blown up at him and brought misery down on him and the entire band—because Joshua had told _Wonwoo_. He doesn't know whether that's better or worse, but for now it's reality.

"Share?"

Taken aback by the request, Soonyoung flinches before he extends the bottle to the taller boy. He follows his movements as his hands grasp the neck of the bottle just millimetres from his own, watches as he brings the tip to his lips and at the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows the burning liquid with ease. Soonyoung's tracksuit bottoms suddenly don't feel as loose as they did a moment prior, and he averts his eyes to the television as a distraction. Wonwoo's lips leave the bottle with a wet pop, and he can’t help but gulp as the boy places the near-empty bottle in between Soonyoung's legs. He doesn't know whether to thank him, doesn't know whether he can when all he feels is a fire starting in his blood that he can't put out. The lingering image of the boy’s protruding Adam’s apple plays over in his mind as Soonyoung sits with his mouth agape unknowingly.

Wonwoo stands there for a moment or two and Soonyoung can’t read the situation at all as he clears his head and shuts his _goddamn_ mouth. He sees a small smirk on his face as finally Wonwoo takes a heavy seat beside him and the familiar stench of _Jack Daniel’s_ engulfs Soonyoung’s nostrils in a fiery embrace. The boy’s near drunk and Soonyoung’s sitting there with just two and a half bottles of beer inside him to the point where he’s only slightly feeling the flush in his cheeks; he doesn’t push aside the fact he began to feel the heat exactly when Wonwoo arrived, he’s too tired for that anymore. He’s shed too many tears. 

Anxiety and lust are swirling in his stomach and Soonyoung finds it extremely difficult to tell them apart as Wonwoo flickers his eyes to the football match on the television for a minute. He hates the new powerlessness he feels around the boy when he’s always been the one in control, the one on top, the one far too scared to ever say anything too damaging to their relationship or himself. He needs to stop calling what they have a relationship… 

“I’m not going to tell Seungcheol and neither is Josh, don’t worry.”

Soonyoung’s movements are suddenly sharper than he expected as he turns his head to the left to meet Wonwoo’s gaze. His eyes are slightly glazed and trail slowly over all Soonyoung’s features, the boy’s breath caught in his throat. Lips that are wet with the residue of alcohol are pulled back into more of a real smile now rather than a smirk, yet it does nothing to stop the feeling Soonyoung is getting that’s radiating off the boy.

Then there’s the hand on his knee and Soonyoung wants to tear his eyes away from Wonwoo to look at it but he can’t, he’s transfixed, held captive by the dark chocolate of his eyes.

“You’re careful, right?” Wonwoo almost slurs, concentrating too hard on making the words seem clear and crisp that it has the opposite effect. Soonyoung begins to nod and the boy sighs in what seems like content, hand not moving. “Please be careful. You can have drinks just—just don’t get bad like before. There was so much booze, so many drugs. I hated you that way. Hated seeing you so… broken.” 

Broken.

He almost finds it funny to hear the word from someone else’s mouth and not his own. It’s a shock and Soonyoung doesn’t know if he likes the sudden confirmation of what he was, what he is—because despite all his nodding and complying with Wonwoo right there, he knows he’s _still_ broken. His pot is still smashed, albeit into slightly larger pieces compared to the time before. Like the sand is still draining out of his hourglass, only slower. He was back on his feet until everything fell from under him once again. Drink or no drink, Wonwoo saw what he had become and Soonyoung can’t process the word without it leaving a sour taste in his mouth so he finishes the beverage held between his thighs. It’s all in his head. It’s not all in his head. He can’t tell. 

Looking into Wonwoo’s eyes with the inability to look anywhere else means Soonyoung can’t focus on anything except the way his heart hurts as it thuds in his chest, and his eyes sting as tears threaten to form. He wonders if Wonwoo knows it’s not the drink that broke him.

The hand that was on his knee is suddenly noticeable to Soonyoung once again as it moves higher up his thigh and the alcohol in his veins makes him feel flush and desperate. He wonders if Wonwoo also knows about how he drives him crazy, can read him inside and out like a book he will hide behind on a long journey on a hot day, only missing a few words here and there. With the look on his face and the hand now on his crotch, he thinks he surely must know he’s the one that’s broken him down.

The intensity of his stare, the massaging hand and the alcohol settling in his veins means he’s already half hard and Soonyoung wishes he can reach out to crack open a new bottle to gulp it down in one as Wonwoo slides him down the couch so he can crawl on top. He doesn’t reach out despite his fingers itching to curl around the cold glass or tin and instead, Soonyoung takes a breath before he curls his bitten fingertips around Wonwoo’s bicep. The boy’s own hands curl around Soonyoung’s back, under his shirt and up his spine, sending shivers all through his body like tiny needles in his skin. He can feel the beginning of all his defences starting to fall down as he stares up at the face above him, vulnerable in the unknown. All the times they’ve been in this position not once has Soonyoung been beneath Wonwoo, and despite everything, it frightens him because he knows what it means.

He’s tempted to stop the boy, he knows this could be the final step forward in the direction he’s been trying so hard to veer away from, a place he isn’t interested in going, a place that scares him and seems far too painful for any of this to be worth it. But his heart is beating so fast, Wonwoo’s eyes are so beautiful and his words were so real that Soonyoung knows he’s far too weak to resist.

Wonwoo’s hand ceases caressing his inner thigh and Soonyoung lets out a little groan, hands finding the boy’s dark hair to tangle his fingertips into. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut when he realises how close their faces are, Wonwoo’s red lips like a beacon drawing him in. He wants to kiss him, he wants to kiss him so much it hurts and it’s such a horribly familiar feeling, but this time he doesn’t even try and push the thought away; Soonyoung just closes his eyes and feels the blood pumping fast around his body.

“Wonwoo,” he growls, voice low but vulnerable as he feels the boy’s hot breath on his face, can smell the alcohol on his breath. He pulls his hair lightly until Wonwoo is looking at his eyes rather than anywhere else. “Take off your clothes.” 

Without hesitation Wonwoo sits up from his spot and places his tongue between his teeth with a low chuckle, pulling his shirt over his head with one swift motion not common in a person of his level of intoxication. Soonyoung lifts himself up onto his elbows and stares into his eyes as he watches Wonwoo undress as slowly as he can, the lust building in his stomach more with every tug at his belt. It’s so hot in his veins, hotter than it’s ever been and hotter than any alcohol and all he wants to do is tear open the boy’s jeans and pin him down on the couch. It seems unbearable yet he doesn’t move, he stays still even when Wonwoo pulls off his underwear in a clumsy fumble and his fingers dance up his chest until they pull at Soonyoung’s own shirt collar. There’s no point lying about how turned on and hard he is right now as his sweatpants begin to feel far too tight. 

Every time since the first time he ever gave Wonwoo a blowjob, since the first time they properly fucked it was always Soonyoung in control, Soonyoung peeling off every inch of Wonwoo’s clothing bit by bit with teasing fingers and a lingering smile. Trapped in his current predicament with Wonwoo pulling his clothes off it feels like an out of body experience. He’s present but it’s like his primal, dominant instincts have vanished when he needs them the most. He can hardly breathe as fingers pull at the waistband of his trousers and he maintains eye contact with the boy through every touch and caress. It’s not like normal and he knows this—so does Wonwoo, and he can’t help but gasp to fill his lungs with as much cold air as possible in the heat of the moment as Wonwoo presses their erect, naked bodies together and curls a hand around them both.

They don’t do blowjobs anymore because it was never enough for Soonyoung and handjobs were never done solely to begin with, but with Wonwoo’s beautiful hand stroking them both and his face once again so close to his, Soonyoung realises it’s a bliss he never knew he’d been missing. Even with the blood pumping through his veins at high speed, Wonwoo’s hand is slow and means Soonyoung is the first to lose the battle of the sounds as he lets out a whimper; his lip trembles and all he wants to do is take Wonwoo’s hand in his so they can ride through this together. Instead of taking control Soonyoung lets the boy take the reins and finds his hand curled once more into Wonwoo’s shaggy locks. He’s gone too far already with the intimate thoughts flashing in the forefront of his mind and he has to close his eyes to concentrate on not finishing too soon.

But he can’t help it, the dark thoughts have dragged him down for too long and his desires are too overwhelming to keep bottled inside him forever. As Wonwoo’s hand becomes rougher and strokes become longer he can’t stop the words slipping from his lips.

“Wonwoo… Please… I need… I need…” The words are hot on his tongue and scratch his throat on their way up as if they are clawing at his insides in an attempt to remain hidden forever. He closes his eyes tighter so he sees stars, bursts of colour from the alcohol and intensity and tries not to cry as he feels Wonwoo hide his face and own moans in the crook of his neck. His lips skim the skin close to his ear and Soonyoung’s brows furrow, overwhelmed at the lack of space between them. He’s usually the one biting down into Wonwoo’s shoulder when thoughts of kissing him cloud his vision but this time as Wonwoo and he grind against one another, it’s the younger boy who is taking his earlobe between his lips with a gentle bite.

Soonyoung swears under his breath, which is followed quickly by another moan and the desire gets to be too much. “I need you. Right now.”

Although he is very much the ringleader in this situation, that’s all it takes for Wonwoo to pull back and reach over into his jeans to fish out his wallet and the lubricant he keeps in there. Soonyoung almost blacks out he’s so hot, wondering if he can get heat exhaustion from a situation like theirs as Wonwoo readies himself for them to fuck. He’s making mewling noises and it’s driving Soonyoung insane to the point he reaches out to grab at Wonwoo’s arms. Without warning the boy shifts his hips and sinks down onto Soonyoung in one move and he feels his head fall back, deep into the pillows behind him. He thinks Hell can’t be much hotter than this and with all he’s done, Soonyoung is sure he’s got a one-way ticket there; he’ll be prepared for it when he arrives.

But whilst Wonwoo riding him would usually blow his mind for the evening before returning back to the empty meat suit he walks around in every day, the lips against his neck only make Soonyoung want him to close the gap so much more. He can’t think of a time where he’s been more tempted to put it all on the line than been afraid for what that meant for him, but he knows now that none of it matters anymore when he’s so deep inside Wonwoo, his head is spinning and he wants to feel those lips on his neck against his own.

“What is it?”

Soonyoung opens his eyes at the sound of Wonwoo’s gruff voice, finding the boy staring back at him with dilated pupils. He realises he must have whimpered, whined, made any sort of sound to cause the boy’s questioning. His breath is fractured and he hates losing himself in Wonwoo like this without confronting his feelings.

It hurts him too much and he’s worried the hurt will never go away, but staring into Wonwoo’s eyes then gives him a spark of… something. Their hips continue to move up and down and Wonwoo lets out a breathy moan when he finds his sweet spot; his head falls forward so their foreheads touch, sweat sticking skin to skin. Soonyoung doesn’t know what to do except curl his fingers deep into Wonwoo’s sides and grind his teeth together at the mixed torture and pleasure he feels there in that moment. The frown between Wonwoo’s eyebrows is so cute and Soonyoung wishes he didn’t find it cute, hasn’t found it cute for the past year they’ve been doing this shit.

“Tell me what you want, Soon.” Wonwoo says in between groans and jerks, his strong, beautiful hands tracing the skin up Soonyoung’s body until they’re on his neck and in his hair. “Tell me if there’s something else I can do to make you happy. Anything to make you happy.”

 _Jack_ is his friend, Soonyoung decides as he takes a long breath in of Wonwoo’s scent: a mix of sex, perspiration and the alcohol still on his lips. _Jack_ will help him through this, will help the boy forget what they’re about to do, will make all this okay in the morning when Soonyoung has to face him and see his gorgeous face. When Wonwoo wets his lips with the tip of his tongue it’s as if he knows that Soonyoung is thinking about kissing him and he tries to pull the boy’s face closer to him before he can change his mind.

There’s a pause and Wonwoo is suddenly made of stone, unable to be moved and Soonyoung whines for the umpteenth time as he stares pleadingly at the boy’s mouth. The hands on his shoulders keep them apart, the distance far too much for where they are, as intimate as physically possible; he needs Wonwoo all over him and that means needing to know if his lips really do taste like whiskey and cigarettes after all this time.

Time feels like it stops when Wonwoo speaks low, as if he doesn’t want anyone else in the world to hear him. “I know what you want, I can see it… Say it. Say what you want and we’ll do it, Soonyoung. I want to make you happy. Say it. ”

 _You can’t_ , a voice in his head tells him and sends out a frustrated whine, tears threatening to spill out of anger at himself as he tries and fails to pull Wonwoo closer another time. He feels so weak, so out of place, so unlike the person he has made himself into and he doesn’t like it; he feels vulnerable and exposed, like Wonwoo knows him too well and it’s the worst thing he has ever felt. Worse than any time he tried to drown the night away with countless pills and bottles in hopes that he doesn’t live to see another day.

 _You can_ , says the other voice. Louder. Stronger. You can, because you’re never going to start to be happy unless you admit that you want this, that you see him as more than just a band mate, a fuck buddy, that you may possibly even have grown to lov… 

He gives in, because hope tells him this black nothingness will start to go away if he does.

“Kiss me.”

This time when Soonyoung tries to bring Wonwoo’s face closer to his he doesn’t resist and he feels the boy’s lips crash against his own in what feels like a stupid battle. He should have expected it wouldn’t be the sort of kiss to erase all his dumb feelings with the touch of their tongues or taste good enough to mute all his thoughts for a while; it’s messy and rough and all Soonyoung can gather from it is that Wonwoo does taste like _Jack Daniel’s_ and pizza and the last joint he smoked before coming to join him for a fuck in their van. It makes him lose control of his other senses as they continue to thrust together their hips and tongues, teeth clashing more often than not. Soonyoung feels weak, weaker than before they began to make out in both the sore and red skin developing around his mouth and the thoughts he was harbouring before. He has no doubt there will be marks on Wonwoo’s back for days as he claws there, wondering if the boy would have bled if he had his nails intact and there will be lingering marks on his face too from where Wonwoo nips and bites at his lips in their war of lust.

Soonyoung and Wonwoo reach their limit together and the taller boy falls onto him completely sated, happy to fall into a sleep right there if he wasn’t completely on top of Soonyoung. His lips are burning and despite having already ridden out his orgasm, Soonyoung’s heart is beating faster than before with the feeling of regret and fear as he curls his fingers one last time into Wonwoo’s sweaty hair, pulling away. He feels completely sober and helps drag Wonwoo back to his bunk so the boy can crash before going to clear up their mess. He has a headache, but he drains the bottles with some drink still left in them before chucking them out and getting into his own bed to sleep.

But it doesn’t make anything disappear. Despite building it up in his head, despite fantasizing and worrying over what it would mean to have his lips caress Wonwoo’s, it’s nothing like he thought it would be. It was underwhelming...

“Happy New Year, Soonyoung.”

 _Fuck…_ but it just makes all his feelings so much more real.

 

/

 

Soonyoung is quick to find out that _Jack_ isn’t his friend after all. Wonwoo hasn’t forgotten what happened a few weeks ago when he corners him in the bathroom of a bar and leans in to kiss the tears off his cheeks. He really thought it would have solved everything yet instead Soonyoung feels even worse off, the pit in his stomach threatening to open up at any moment now he knows what Wonwoo’s lips feel like. He can’t stop crying and he wants Wonwoo to tell him how to stop feeling this way about him but letting his lips kiss away the salty tear tracks on his cheeks is a bigger reminder that there’s nothing that can be done about his situation.

They keep their routine as much as possible when another hotel night or coach night rolls around; Soonyoung fucks Wonwoo and he thinks maybe this time will be the time when he decides he’s not going to do this anymore. But Wonwoo gives him that moment of escape from reality even if it’s only brief where he doesn’t have to worry that he’s getting as bad as he used to be, maybe even worse.

They kiss now without sweaty skin against skin, always in the shadows, sometimes drunk but mostly not. But it’s Wonwoo that touches his cheek, rubs his thumb over the red rash developing on the side of his face and leans in, pulling them together. He wishes he was strong enough to tell his heart no, but that night permanently unlocked something inside of him that knows he can’t. Instead he gives in and sinks his fingers into the fabric of his own jeans, pressing his lips against Wonwoo’s until the only air he’s breathing is shared with Wonwoo and the whole world seems to melt away around them. 

Soonyoung drinks a lot more in the toilet cubicles after shows to calm his shaking hands as he rips off the plasters around his fingers. He gets drunk and can’t help the strangled sobs he chokes up into the toilet bowl in between retches. The smell of vomit is putrid and engulfs him but he can’t stop himself from crying, so to clear the taste from his mouth he takes another swig of his bottle as his stomach protests. He wishes it were possible to throw up his heart, flush it away for good.

He gets drunk with Wonwoo when they’re alone and they fuck with eyes locked and lips against lips. It’s never anything more than a fight between them and Soonyoung wonders why they can’t give in. He tries to stop the words from coming out but he’s too drunk to control what he’s saying. He has Jihoon and Joshua’s words in his head mixed with Wonwoo’s, and his own on the tip of his tongue as he presses his lips to Wonwoo’s collar bone and lets out a final breathy moan.

“I fucking love you.”

He knows it’s his biggest mistake to date but as he pulls out of Wonwoo he’s too tired and hazy to remember immediately what it is he said. It’s only in the morning when he’s throwing up into the toilet with his head on fire that he recalls the way Wonwoo looked at him moments after his confession, a content smile on his lips before he drifted off. He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know what the kisses on his face mean or the way he feels a bit lighter than before.

Soonyoung purchases some weed by the corner of their hotel in California and lights up away from prying eyes. He decides not to return to his hotel room where Wonwoo is still sleeping because he can’t look at him without wanting to either cry or burst into song and he fucking hates when shit like that happens in movies - it’s just not realistic. He inhales the smoke and lets it fill him up; he’s been gasping for a high for too long and despite his promises to himself and everyone else around him, he decides he doesn’t care, not when he let slip the words that have been eating him up inside for far too long. Love wasn’t an option for him, that was something he had decided on long ago; that it hindered his art and that was something he couldn’t have if he wanted to succeed, that it never makes you happy. He learned that when he was seventeen, when his parents split and showed him true love wasn’t real, when he had decided his only love was going to be the guitar and the stage. It tears him apart inside knowing that Wonwoo, stupid, nosy, tall, reliable, talented, beautiful Wonwoo has ruined that for him because the stage is no longer love enough.

 

/

 

It’s the final part of their world tour and they’re running soundchecks for a show in Hong Kong that evening. Seungcheol has already checked on Soonyoung to see if he’s taken his pills, which he has, just a few too many. He receives a slight frown from his manager before he departs to check up on the others and Soonyoung knows the man doesn’t trust him anymore, can sense that something is off again. _Screw him_ , he thinks as he pulls the plectrum from his teeth and begins to strum as he tunes his instrument, Seungcheol is only a year older than him and he has no right to judge. That’s what he thinks it’s come to now: judgement over care. 

When they take a break for lunch so the production team can help set up the lights and rest of the staging for some of their bigger numbers, Soonyoung grabs a plate of food with a drink and sits in the corner of the room by himself. He’s feeling rough and has been for the past few days and everyone can tell there’s something up. Jeonghan approaches him and asks if it’s because they’ve added his song to the setlist and the pre-show jitters are getting to him, but it’s not; if he’d had his say he would never have let Jihoon find his lyrics from months ago when he was lying on the sofa in Seokmin’s apartment, wouldn’t have let him talk him into adding it to their final leg of the tour whilst he was vulnerable and couldn’t tell him no.

“These lyrics are gold, Soonie. They’re raw and exactly the shit we should be singing —real hard hitting stuff that shows them who we are.” Jihoon had clapped him on the back after finding them in his guitar case, claiming he was looking for a capo clamp for Joshua’s guitar.

Who _we_ are. Soonyoung had chuckled tiredly at the boy because it’s funny that Jihoon finds his struggles are something the band can claim as their own. It’s a sham and he knows it’s not a song that shows who they are as a collective, but who he, Soonyoung is as a “troubled soul” as the mainstream like to put it. Apparently his chuckle and lack of denial was enough for Jihoon to place an unexpected kiss on the top of his head before heading out to show Seungcheol, paper waving in his hand.

He could’ve said no when they held a meeting about learning and adding the song to their final few shows the next day; he really wanted to but not enough for him to put a stop to it. Soonyoung doesn’t know how it can get any worse than him not being able to look at Wonwoo properly anymore when he’s not drunk, that he might as well announce to the world how he feels deep down inside in song form when he’s already let Wonwoo know exactly what’s up with him, exactly how much he loves him, is in love with him. 

He realises he hasn’t replied to Jeonghan so he nods and forces a smile before telling him he’s just tired and can’t wait for their break. The boy agrees, running a hand through his newly dyed platinum hair with a smile of his own before he heads to the buffet spread to grab a plate of food. Soonyoung watches him go and his eyes begin to wander, scanning the scene and all the faces of the people who travel with them on tour and think they know them. It’s almost laughable, and _god_ does he wish he could laugh.

Feeling a hand squeeze at his shoulder alerts Soonyoung to another presence so he looks up and meets Jihoon’s eyes. It’s a brief shared look before the shorter boy glances down at Soonyoung’s hands, the bitten fingers curled around the bottle. Soonyoung knows he’s checking to see if it’s a beer, and to see if his nails are bleeding again; when he sees the label of the bottle a silent look of relief washes over Jihoon and it makes Soonyoung’s blood boil. He curls his hand tighter around the neck of the bottle until his knuckles are white and he realises he hates how much he’s still being treated as if he’s made of glass. As the boy opens his mouth to ask what Soonyoung presumes is about how he’s feeling, he shrugs the hand off his shoulder and discards his food despite the gaping pit forming in his belly.

He can’t stand being surrounded, and taken care of; beginning to feel claustrophobic he takes off suddenly down the winding backstage corridors without looking back at Jihoon’s shocked face. The sound of the production team hammers through the thin walls and he screws his eyes shut, walking blindly for a few steps towards his dressing room. He knows they’re all trying to help, damn it he knows he should be grateful but he just feels anger because he doesn’t need taking care of anymore… because all he feels is guilt when he sees Jihoon and he knows he’s lying to him and he’s nothing to be proud of.

The fridge welcomes him with a melodic hum in the corner of the room and Soonyoung has never been one to be rude in the face of such a kind greeting from an old friend. He leans down and tugs it open quickly so the glow paints his face with a golden halo. Soonyoung can’t read the characters decorating the green can before him, but _hànzì_ or not, he knows a beer when he sees one.

A wretched, uncomfortable feeling is building in his stomach again and Soonyoung knows he’s already taken way over his daily dose of “happy pills”, but as he flops down onto the threadbare couch he rifles through his bag and empties three more into his palm with a _pop_. The can fizzes and the golden liquid inside helps the blue tablets slide down his gullet with ease and a sigh. Maybe tonight they’ll put an end to this weight he feels inside him. 

Alone in his dressing room with a beer in hand Soonyoung watches the clock above the door tick. The sound of the stage crew is muffled through the wall and he almost feels calm with the knowledge he’s away from the band and that there are still three hours before their performance. He regrets not eating anything he’d piled onto his plate earlier, so to fill his empty stomach with something other than pills he brings the beer to his mouth. He takes another sip and hums melodically in appreciation as one can turns into two, and two into seven. 

Seven o’clock is when Soonyoung starts to feel the buzz rushing through his veins as he slips into his stage outfit and adrenaline courses through his intoxicated body. The smell of cologne in his room is vile and overbearing but he had to do something before the make up artists knocked on his door to touch him up before the show. He laughs until he’s almost crying when the soft bristles of the eyeshadow brush sweep across his skin, and the artist decides he’s a lost cause. Exiled from the room he only has a mess of eyeshadow across his eyelids and untouched skin lacking foundation. Soonyoung scoffs and tries to walk steadily towards the side of the stage to fit his ear piece.

He’s halfway through a guitar solo when he blinks and realises time has skipped, or in his case, he has forgotten when the band emerged in front of the crowd and began to play their songs thanks to the shit he put in his body. _Great job_ , he thinks sarcastically as he fails to smirk. Instead, Soonyoung shakes his head as the lights shine too bright, his vision cloudy with the glare and fog appearing in front of him. He can feel his knees shaking, hands suddenly unable to grasp the neck of his instrument or play a single note. The screaming and chanting from the crowd is there but it’s faint, it’s as if he’s underwater, drowning and everything is so far away that he can’t keep his eyes open. He’s swaying as he’s carried by the current in deep water. He can’t swim to the surface, he can’t breathe, he can’t…

Soonyoung collapses on stage violently mid-way through their seventh number, head and guitar hitting the floor with a loud bang... but he’s unconscious before the fall.

 

/

 

If it hadn’t have been for the beeping and the almost putrid smell of cleanliness filling his nostrils, Soonyoung would have believed he was in Heaven; that, and the complete disbelief he’d ever make it to any holy plain with infinite clouds and happiness considering the life he’s lived. His vision is blurry and limited, but he begins to feel the foreign objects protruding from the skin of his arms and between his legs, as well as the hard plastic tube between his teeth and on his tongue. His nose is itchy but he can’t touch is because he can’t move his arms and the cannula in his nostrils restricts him from reaching the spot anyway. He knows he’s not dead—just stuck, because there are no flames lapping at his skin or man with horns dancing around him, long fork in hand. He can feel the sheets beneath his fingertips and hear the commotion of various people from behind closed doors—what he _presumes_ are closed doors, he can’t see anything but the white ceiling for now.

Everything hurts and the lights are too bright bouncing off the walls for him to keep his eyes open for too long. Through the saliva he’s drooling down his chin thanks to the tube in his mouth Soonyoung groans in discomfort and before he knows it he hears voices next to him. He’s not entirely sure if they’re using really complicated words or he just doesn’t understand English anymore. He knows they’re speaking to him but he doesn’t understand, so he opens his eyes to a direct beam of light being shone towards his pupil and he screws his face up in an attempt to return everything to black. Is it the medicine or does he not know words anymore? He hopes it’s not the latter before he feels a surge of vomit erupting from the pit of his stomach like a volcano.

 

/

 

When it reaches the third week in his assigned ward at the hospital Soonyoung feels like he’s a burden. He no longer has a tube in his mouth to help him breathe and stop him choking on his own vomit or the catheter in his bladder (the last being the one he’s most happy about, now being able to slowly walk to the toilet to take a piss in peace); but the IV drip and cannula in his nose remain and will remain for the last few days he has left before he’s transferred to the rehabilitation clinic out of state. Once again he feels stuck, trapped in the room, in his body and he knows he should be thankful to be alive.

He hears from Jihoon over the phone that the band have decided maybe it’s best for them all to go their separate ways. The words “break up” are used but Soonyoung tries not to dwell on them in the same way he tries not to think about the way his heart is shattering into thousands of tiny, miniscule pieces.

“It’s not your fault.” It is.

“It’s for the best.” It’s all his fault.

“We were all feeling too much pressure.” Thanks to him.

“I’m sorry.” For not kicking him out sooner.

“We had a good run. Mostly good.” It could have been a marathon.

“Soonyoung, it’s not your fault.” It _is_.

He wants to yell at Jihoon through the small piece of metal in his hand, wants to tell him that they can’t because music and the band are the only thing he’s known for most of his life as a young adult. But he can’t find the words and instead, Soonyoung sobs loudly, grossly, harder than he ever has in his life. The nurse in the room rushes to him to keep the cannula from blocking with snot and to hold him back as Soonyoung starts picking at his nails (which are beginning to grow back) again. The phone is discarded and he doesn’t hear what final words Jihoon has to say, he doesn’t need to; the band is over and it’s all his fault. He’s disgusted at himself, hates himself for ruining everyone’s dream when they were on top of the world, hates himself more for not taking the help he was offered until it was all gone. Imagining Jihoon’s face in that moment as his words from so long ago fade to ashes makes Soonyoung want to curl up into a ball and cry for months on end. 

He wishes ‘sorry’ were enough.

 

/

 

He calls Seokmin from his room at the clinic. It ends up being a thing he does when he wants to call Wonwoo. But, he thinks, Wonwoo hasn’t been in contact with him since he woke up in the hospital, and if he isn’t going to reach out to him then neither will Soonyoung. He knows it’s childish and he misses him but hearing Seokmin’s voice over the phone makes everything slightly better for a while. 

The first call was the hardest when Seokmin was practically bawling down the phone to him and Soonyoung had to end the call because his friend wouldn’t listen to him when he told him to stop crying. Since then they’ve made sure they talk about the trivial things: how Seokmin’s roommates are (Soonyoung finally has the patience to learn their names and how both Mingyu and Minghao are wishing him all the best, blah blah), how he’s getting on at work or what films he’s been out to see recently. It’s nice, it’s normal; Soonyoung reckons he needs normal.

His schedule is strict at the clinic so he doesn’t get long to speak with his friend, but he appreciates every second Seokmin has been able to distract him from the beige walls surrounding him and the ache in his heart for Wonwoo. It’s the best he can get without actually seeing anyone face to face —the focus of the clinic, he was informed, was on building camaraderie with the specialists and fellow patients; and faces from the past may bring up feelings of guilt or fear that he may not be ready to handle. Soonyoung doesn’t like it but he understands. Handing the phone back to the clinic worker he sighs and departs for his morning group therapy session. 

“Hi, my name’s Soonyoung and I have an addiction to Jeon Wonwoo.”

Is what he _wishes_ he could say, but the usual drivel about his run-in with drugs and alcohol come out of his mouth like words programmed into a robot before he sits back and waits for the next person in the circle to do their bit of talking. It lets him think for a while, letting similar stories float in and out of his ears as his brain replays the events from over the past year that led him to that moment. Soonyoung regrets, of course he does, and although he aches more than ever to pick up a guitar and perform with his band again he knows he can’t. 

Ever since he was seventeen Soonyoung thought that the best feeling in the world was to stand on stage with the crowd roaring out his name and the lyrics he’d penned. Not once did he think of the darkness that surrounds you once in the spotlight. Every band got drunk, so therefore so did he; every band took drugs, so he did too. Young and impressionable, Soonyoung thought he was unstoppable, on top of the world and never did he think he would fall in love with a boy that was supposed to be a one-time post-concert high fling. He breathes in hard through his nose and closes his eyes as memories of the years in the band come back to him.

Soonyoung snaps out of it when the session is over and one of the guys taps him on the shoulder.

Wearing gloves helps him stop picking his fingernails when he really needs a drink. Even the threat of death wasn’t completely enough to stop his desires, but he knows there is no way in hell he is ever touching the stuff again. Not this time, he thinks. He’ll be better this time. He _wants_ to be better this time, that’s the difference.

Each week he makes that much more effort to speak up in group talks or share his art in the stupid art therapy classes that are mandatory to attend since he’s opted out of musical therapy for now. He learns his roommate’s name is Junhui after weeks of not interacting with anyone outside of classes, and allows himself to be slowly incorporated into his existing group of fellow ex-addicts (or “friends”) over time. He frequents sessions with the doctor to talk about his mental health and takes his tablets on time as instructed —this time with a glass of water, not an ice cold cider. He plans to call Jihoon and talk about anything, clear the air and the weight on his chest that still sits there waiting to be lifted, but he knows he can do it even if they just end up talking about bicycles. He flushes his system, he becomes _part_ of the system and, before he realises it, Soonyoung’s been in the centre for nearly three months. He loses track of time and thinks, maybe, being a robot for a while will do him some good.

 

/

 

“Happy Birthday!”

It’s the first thing he hears on June 15th when he realises... it is June 15th. At first, he thinks maybe they are wishes left over from Junhui’s birthday a few days prior, but the freshly made bed he’s just returned to from the shower is surrounded by Junhui and his other friends, Chan, Hansol, and Seungkwan, all with smiles painted across their tired faces. Soonyoung finds himself unknowingly rubbing the hair on his chin not sure how to respond, except with a quiet nod in thanks.

“We organised something special in the hall for you today!” Seungkwan practically sings as the other boys turn towards him, looks of disbelief in their eyes. Chan hits his arm and the blonde jumps in reaction, rubbing the point of contact. “What? I didn’t tell him what it was!”

“Yeah, but you still told him we planned _something_ which kind of defeats the entire point of a surprise!” Chan looks disappointed and pouts, running his fingers through his freshly washed hair. 

Seungkwan murmurs an apology and hunches his shoulders as Junhui steps forward to clap Soonyoung on his back with a smile. He feels weird because this is the first birthday Soonyoung remembers not waking up with a splitting headache from drinking the night before, only to start getting ready to drink again that evening in celebration. He thinks he quite likes being able to see straight and have his head clear from a dark fog, so he gratefully returns Junhui’s gesture and looks his friends in the eye.

“So,” Hansol asks after Soonyoung’s finished dressing himself and has glanced at his timetable on the wall. “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-seven. I think.” He pauses to think before letting out an involuntary chuckle. He clamps his lips together, unsure of where that sudden bubble of happiness came from.

“Sweet. Congrats, man.” The boy smiles all wide and gummy before jogging out of the room, Soonyoung following suit a little while later.

When he enters the hall for their group therapy session he sees a few balloons bunched in the corner of the room and a table set up at the side of the room with various cookies and drinks. Soonyoung pauses and swallows as he meets the eyes of everyone gathered in the room. Most of them sing happy birthday to him led by his friends and the session leader, with the occasional patient opting out of the merriment and festivities; he understands, because three months ago in his first few weeks of being locked up here he hated the sight of any sign of happiness too.

Therapy goes as per usual only this time with more snacks and drinks involved - even those who chose not to sing are happy to indulge in the free food. Soonyoung listens and responds a lot more to open questions for the group and is surprised to hear he’s been called to his personal therapist’s office as they’re stacking the chairs because it’s not part of his schedule for the day. Whereas before when his head was cloudy he may have questioned angrily as to where he was going and why, Soonyoung nods and departs for his unexpected session.

Knocking thrice on the wooden door, Soonyoung enters and sits down with a small hello. He continues to wonder why he’s been called in so early when he is scheduled a break, giving the usual information his therapist wants to hear such as his abstinence from drinking alcohol and taking any drugs aside from the prescribed medicine from his doctor.

“How are you feeling, Soonyoung?” She asks him, a smile on her face. “Do you think you’re ready?”

Soonyoung frowns and shifts in his seat, head tilted to the side in confusion. “I’m sorry, ready for what?”

“Well, like we discussed last week you’re nearing your final term here with us. Amongst the board, we’ve collectively come to the decision that you have been complying very well with the scheme and think we’re ready to discuss the possibility of visitors in the future. Do you think you’re ready for visitors? We’ll have to do background checks beforehand but if you did, it might be a healthy way to transition back into your regular life with them before you leave us here.”

She has kind eyes and they help lessen the anxiety at the thought of being face to face with any of his contacts once again. Soonyoung’s just gotten used to having Junhui, Chan, Seungkwan, and Hansol being his ‘friends’ here with the voice of Seokmin over the phone being his only real contact with the outside world. He feels safe here where he knows when he has dark thoughts (although much less often than before) and wants to harm himself through drink or drugs or whatever else, he can’t; he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to manage and reintegrate himself with society on the other side of these walls without falling back into the clutches of his depression.

But he thinks about those eyes, deep and chocolate brown, hidden behind round glasses in the morning before he decides to put his contacts in. He thinks about the deep voice and the airy laugh, completely contrasting to one another, that fill up his body with something lighter than helium until he’s floating on air. Soonyoung thinks about all the questions he wants to ask and despite the feeling of dread in his gut, he nods. He does this as a birthday gift to himself. 

“Perfect. Do you have anyone in mind?”

 

/

 

Soonyoung feels stupid when he wonders what outfit he should wear when he wakes up on Sunday before visiting hours begin. It’s stupid because he’s not some prepubescent tween with a big fat crush on some below average middle school guy, but also because he has no other option than to wear one of the three shirts he has with him at the centre and only one is clean. So, with a heaving sigh after towelling himself off from the shower, Soonyoung pulls on his fresh clothes and wonders why on Earth he thought this was a good idea. The only contact he’s had with anyone outside of the clinic is through brief talks on the phone with Seokmin and once with Jihoon, and now he thinks he doesn’t know how to talk to anyone one-on-one.

Someone whistles behind him and Soonyoung turns to see Junhui smiling at him from his part of their shared room. “Looking good, Soonyoung. Meeting someone today?”

“Actually yes.”  
  
“No shit. Seriously?” Junhui raises his eyebrows and steps forward with a smile until he is able to pat him on his back. “Congratulations, man.”

Soonyoung tries his hardest not to shrug the boy’s hand off and instead returns the smile with a slight tilt of his head. “Yeah, well, don’t congratulate me yet - you haven’t seen me come out from the other side unscathed.”

Junhui chuckles and shakes his black hair, “You’ll be fine, trust me. I felt the exact same with my first visitor. Thought they’d see me and treat me completely differently. Just try and enjoy it, you’ve earned it.”

An overwhelming sense of gratefulness washes over the boy then as Junhui departs for his morning routine and all Soonyoung can do is stand and nod in thanks. This feeling stays with him as he moves his gaze towards the clock on the wall and prepares himself for the longest thirty minutes of his life until he’s allowed to make his way to the visiting room. So, he spends it cleaning and taking a trip to the medical bay for his morning prescription and still time doesn’t go any faster. He’s so nervous, but he guesses nervous is better than devastatingly sad. He knows it is. That’s progress.

Time ticks on and after he feels like he’s repeated his entire stint in rehab all over again he notices the time on the clock and makes his way towards the visiting rooms. Soonyoung notices a few others heading the same way in what appears to be their best clothes and he wonders if this is any of their first times with outside contact too, if they’re equally as nervous or if he is the worst case of them all. He wrings his hands together and scratches the back of his hair with the nails he’s been taking care of before he reaches the line of people waiting to be let into the room.

There is no shortage of windows yet Soonyoung still can’t see into the room past the crowd of bobbing heads, all equally as curious as to see if anyone is already seated inside. The whole ordeal makes Soonyoung all that more nervous as they slowly file into the room in single file, signing the register as they do. What if he hasn’t come?

But Wonwoo is very much there.

Soonyoung approaches slowly, feet dragging as he tries to take in the sight of the boy staring out of the window to the outside all whilst drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He hasn’t noticed him yet and Soonyoung can’t find his voice so he just continues walking until he’s stood before him in what feels like some vivid pipe dream, a lot like the ones he had when he was first told he was being admitted to rehab indefinitely. He forgets there’s a chair there for him to sit on and instead watches as Wonwoo’s full set of features come into view for the first time in months. He almost feels himself choking up because he can’t believe he had begun to forget the sharpness of his brow or the curve of his lip, or the way his gaze feels like he can see deep into his heart and soul, figuring out your every secret, stealing your breath as if he’s taking candy from a baby. He wishes sobriety from Wonwoo were an option here at the centre, but he knows that unlike the drink and the drugs it’s impossible when his heart races at the mere sight of his face once more; only this time he doesn’t feel like helplessly trying to take away that feeling with a glass or eight of whisky. That’s progress.

He watches as Wonwoo’s eyes widen at the sight of him, lips parting as if he has something to say but to no avail. Instead, he quits his fidgeting, the drumming at the table and stands to match him. Soonyoung still can’t quite believe what he’s seeing and he lets out a long sigh as Wonwoo awkwardly rubs his nose and gazes around him at the other people there, some of them staff appointed to watch over the group. He clears his throat and pulls at the hem of his shirt before cracking a small smile, corner of his lip turning up as he retakes his seat. Taking it as his cue to follow, Soonyoung presses his own lips together and slowly sinks into the plastic chair on the opposite side of the table from his friend.

It's uncomfortable at first; it was bound to be, he thinks, as he tries his hardest to look at Wonwoo's face rather than at the stray string on the hem of his jeans out of mortification and his sudden inability to talk. His blood is pounding in his ears and he knows he's probably red with embarrassment, but as he tries to drown out the sound and focus on the noises in the room rather than his head, Soonyoung feels himself struggling to take in a deep breath. Shaking, he is barely able to fill his lungs and they feel like concrete in his chest. 

"Hey..." He manages to say, not realising the words have left his lips until he hears his own voice. Suddenly the initial pounding isn't so painful anymore. Not when he sees Wonwoo's eyebrows soften and let go of a breath of air.

"Hey. Wow, it’s good to hear your voice," Wonwoo replies, and Soonyoung notices the way he's curling his fingers into the edge of the table. "How are you?"

"Small talk?" Is what Soonyoung _wants_ to say with a chuckle, pretend like this isn't hard for him, like he can see and think and breathe like a normal human being when meeting up with a... friend for the first time in months. Whereas joking is not an option in his current state, he nods and takes a moment to process the sound of the words that rolled off of Wonwoo's tongue.

"I'm fine. I'm alive." That's progress.

"You've, uh..." The way the boy's eyes thin as he smiles around his words makes Soonyoung wish he had a camera, tilting his head in anticipation for the end of the sentence. Wonwoo laughs, just two small breathy exhales, and hesitantly raises his finger to point just below Soonyoung's chin. He frowns and wonders what Wonwoo is gesturing at until he feels the hairs tickling his chin. "You've got a beard."

He supposes it’s normal to feel slightly self-conscious when others point out a significant feature on your body, raising a hand to run along the lengthy stubble growing on his cheek.

“Yeah… We only get razors under supervision but I, uh, I thought I’d let it grow a little.”

“It suits you. You look really good, Soon.”

Swallowing, he tries to fight back the smile on his lips and shuffles a little in his seat. Soonyoung isn’t used to getting compliments on mundane things from anyone other than the staff here at the rehabilitation centre, and to hear someone - especially someone so special - tell him he looks good makes his heart swell in a way he hasn’t felt in a very long time. 

“Thanks,” he starts with, nodding as he rubs his sweaty palms on his knees. He feels like he’s on one of those blind date programmes Seungkwan always requests during recreation time.  “You too.”

Wonwoo cracks another small smile, “It’s really nice to see you.”

“Yeah…” He wants to reply with another ‘you too’ but Soonyoung pauses to bite at the inside of his cheek. “I was wondering about that… Why didn’t you reach out to me earlier? Come see me at the hospital at least?”

“Soonyoung, I was the one that came with you in the ambulance… when you were…” Wonwoo’s smile is suddenly no longer present, his eyes are wide and glassy as if he’s witnessing a traumatic event before him and Soonyoung supposes the sight of him choking on his own vomit, convulsing on a stretcher _was_ a traumatic event for any normal functioning human. When the boy laughs to try and dispel the sadness of the moment, Soonyoung spots the tears in the corners of his eyes… Wonwoo rarely cries and it makes him hold his breath.

“I don’t know if you remember… but I said to you all those months ago that I wouldn’t be there for you when you pass out on stage one day, I—I didn’t mean it, Soonyoung. I never meant it. I was just so _angry_ at what you were doing to yourself… but most of all I was angry at myself for not seeing it sooner, trying to help you sooner… I’m so sorry.”

Soonyoung doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know why Wonwoo is apologising, virtually on the verge of weeping in front of him in a room where they are surrounded by friends and families and fellow patients.

“I’m so so sorry, Soon. I’m so happy you’re alive. I’m so sorry I didn’t reach out since then. I just kept picturing you there. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you…” Wonwoo sniffs, tilting his head back in an attempt to keep the tears from falling and Soonyoung is frozen to his seat. “This is all my fault.”

“No it’s not. This was never your fault, Wonwoo. You didn’t force me to drink all that shit and take all those drugs.” Wonwoo’s eyes fall on him then as Soonyoung finds the courage to speak and breathe once again. “Unless you were drugging me in my sleep and feeding me alcohol, that is.”

Wonwoo sniffs a few times more and his eyes soften slightly, enough for his lips to stop trembling. “Okay, I didn’t do that but I still feel responsible…” 

“You’re ridiculous.”

A laugh. “Maybe so.”

He can’t help himself then as Soonyoung joins the boy in a low, weak chuckle at their pointless argument. He feels more at ease on the uncomfortable plastic chair now than he had to begin with, and he’s grateful a lot of their tension has already seeped away. He would’ve been so sad if he wasn’t able to look into Wonwoo’s eyes because of some stupid awkwardness he’d built up inside himself.

“Let’s agree that we both fucked up royally and leave it there. I’m alive, so you don’t need to cry tears for me.”

The sound of the other meetings around them is completely drowned out now, and Soonyoung feels as if it’s just the two of them in their own little bubble. He feels so at peace.

“Yeah. You look healthy too, you know, considering you were in the hospital only a few months ago. I—uh, wasn’t sure you were happy to see me at first when I saw you enter the room. I was trying to process that you were on two feet again. But, I’m so happy for you. They told me you were doing well.”

“I am. They think I can be discharged within the next month.”

Wonwoo blinks and it’s so endearing to see that Soonyoung can’t help but smile and run a hand through his freshly washed hair. It feels so good now that he hasn’t had to dye it in months; it’s healthy again just like the rest of him… or, the majority of him. He still had to work on his heart, but he was getting there.

“Wow… That’s… That’s amazing—and so soon! The guys will be so happy and—”

“I’m sorry about the band.” He interrupts him, not wanting to put a downer on the moment but he feels it’s necessary, seeing as Wonwoo’s done a ton of apologising. Now it’s his turn. “We were kinda on top of the world back there and I should’ve handled myself better, told you all about the shit I was going through instead of bottling it up and making it worse. As a result, I ruined it for everyone and I was so selfish, I’m sorry.”

_I’m sorry for not telling you how I feel, but I’m not sorry for saying I love you._

He knows his depression is nothing he should be apologising for. It’s something that can’t be helped, a mental illness he has struggled with since his late teens, but for the first time since he was seventeen, he feels okay to talk about it and how it was a key factor in everything spiralling out of control, fuelling his fear and addiction. 

“Don’t be.” Wonwoo reaches out across the table and for the first time in months, Soonyoung feels the same tingling sensation he always got from the boy every time they touched. But this time it’s nice, it’s not fogged by a dark cloud, it’s contained to the single spot on his arm where Wonwoo’s hand rests comfortably. “They’re glad you’re safe. Besides, I’d rather have the band broken up and you alive than the other way ‘round.”

Those words fill Soonyoung up like a balloon and he feels like he’s floating as he rises from his seat and walks around to Wonwoo. The boy’s face is soft but with a hint of confusion before Soonyoung pulls him up and wraps his arms around him. Wonwoo mutters something along the lines of asking whether or not they’re allowed to hug, but Soonyoung’s face is buried so deep into the crook of Wonwoo’s neck he can’t hear him properly. Instead of replying, he tightens his trip and inhales the boy’s scent —the same cologne he’s always worn but without a trace of _Jack_ on him. He guesses the fright he gave his bandmates was enough to put them off drinking for a while.

Wonwoo’s arms wrap around him a heartbeat or two after once he’s sure they’re not going to be pulled apart, and Soonyoung can hear him sigh. His arms slot under Soonyoung’s like they always do and his fingers lock at the bottom of his spine comfortingly. They stand there, just embracing for a while and that’s all he needs, all he has needed for a very long time: to be held and told by someone he cares so much about that he’s more important than success. He never heard the screams and cries telling him exactly that when he drowned them out with a mix of substances, but now he is sober he hears it all and he reckons they mean it.

That’s progress.

“Who knows,” Soonyoung brings his head up from being buried in the white shirt Wonwoo is wearing and cracks a smile. “Maybe in ten years when I’m ready we can do a big reunion album? That will spark some interest I’m sure and we’ll hardly be short on things to write about.”

He hears Wonwoo laugh right next to his ear, but most of all he _feels_ the boy laugh: the way his chest and shoulders bounce up and down as he chuckles lowly. That was all Soonyoung needed and he lets go with a reluctant yet satisfied smile on his face. He figures they’ve been embracing for long enough and any more might make the staff antsy so he knows he has to let his hands fall back to his sides. Wonwoo’s eyes are almost sparkling with what seems like relief in having his old Soonyoung back. It takes his breath away as they make eye contact and just stand there.

After a breath or two, Soonyoung knows there is so much he has to say to the boy, so much they need to discuss that he needs to get off his chest, whether or not it turns out for the better. He knows their time is running out and he doesn’t want Wonwoo to leave, but he is clear about something for once in his life: he is getting out of here, clean and sober and he’s going to work on whatever it is he and Wonwoo have.

You see, Soonyoung was seventeen when he decided he never wanted to fall in love, that it was too much of a hassle, and that it got in the way of his music. He was also seventeen when he decided music was the thing he wanted to pursue full-time, that he wanted to be a star and nothing would make him happier in the world than playing in front of large crowds with his friends by his side.

But now, Soonyoung is twenty-seven. After pursuing music full-time, being a star, and playing in front of large crowds with his friends by his side, he realises how naive he truly was. Love was never a hassle, caring about others so deeply was never what got in the way of his art—his anxieties were. The constant reminders to himself that he should never give his heart to anyone was the one thing that broke him down so badly it ruined the brightest thing in his life. But now, he’s twenty-seven and he knows he can let himself feel, because feeling makes everything worth it; whether it’s the screams from a crowd that run like electricity in his veins or the warmth of someone’s arms around him making his stomach flutter. He knows not to drown it out, because who is he without feeling? 

“Can we start over?” Soonyoung lets out in a long breath, hard at first to shift, but so easy once the words began to roll off his tongue.

With a smile that makes his nose crease as the clock ticks down to the final moments of the visiting session, Wonwoo nods and tilts his head slightly to the side. 

“I’d like that.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you have suffered through this, i want to say thank you so much... it's quite a hard read, i do realise that, and soonwoo are the most fucked up pairing from the way i portrayed them. yike. but thank you. this has been the hardest thing i've ever had to write. i really pushed myself to write something completely out of my usual comfort zone of light angst and comical fluff. aaaand i think i hit the nail on the head? don't think i'll be doing anything like this again in the future though it was hard to express this story in a way i deemed appropriate.
> 
> i haven't posted anything in quite a while (excluding the secret santa fic i wrote in december), so it's a little scary to be coming back, especially with something like this but i hope you enjoyed(??) it nonetheless. please leave a kudos and a comment or speak to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/magzineho)!! **please** don’t be put off by comment regulations! thats only there in case there is something triggering in a comment that i can therefore regulate and see and decide whether it will be ok to post (though im sure if anyone has survived this fic it should be fine but just a precaution!!)
> 
> all my love ♡ [listen to encore.'s playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/aeymbooycz2ob7ky7sdqda4h3/playlist/4Jt2xqVZDDZMXnUkY7tB83?si=Zd43xD0ITw2G2hZeydCE8w)
> 
>  
> 
> [Support Me on Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/V7V2QHDD)


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